#≠ ―「 i'm just young enough to still believe 」musings.

[marisol-000]

The Sandbox Scientists ch.2

Chapter 2! I can't believe how long this got, I had to push some stuff to the next chapter sooooo look out for that one!

(a03)

The boys didn't take the news that they weren't going home well.

There were lots of tears and crying and yelling until eventually weak promises and the offer of cookies calmed them down.

She couldn't blame them of course, the poor things suddenly waking up in a place they don't recognize with people they don't remember.

But what could they do? Neither she nor Robert knew where Jekyll had lived, just “somewhere” in Glasgow; and forget Edward 'street urchin’ Hyde!

Even if they could send them home it probably wouldn't be a good idea. Whatever had happened to her friends was likely temporary, or at least more likely to be solved by one of the scientists here than any townie in scotland.

All they could do now was try to keep the two comfortable while they looked for a solution.

And the first step to that was to get the boys in some fitting clothes!

“Right, but we don't have any. This isn't exactly a daycare.” Robert mused.

“Well you seem to forget! I'm quite the gifted seamstress!” Rachel bragged, wiping some cookie dough off her hands.

She flipped the patterned rag over her shoulder. “I can have some outfits going for these two in no time.”

Robert leaned around her, peeking into the kitchens where the two were playing tag. Henry kept tripping over his pants which slowed him down, but Edward couldn't seem to catch him anyways; not stepping wide enough and his arms not quite reaching, so there seemed to be no clear winner.

He let the door swing shut.

“Hmm, A whole wardrobe? For two boys? There's no telling how long they'll be this way. We'll need shirts, slacks, vests, coats, shoes and who knows what else. I'd much prefer taking him to a tailor.”

“Him?” Rachel raised an eyebrow and crossed her arms, “I suppose you mean Henry.”

“Yes Henry.” he said unflinchingly, “You can't expect me to take Edward Hyde to the bloody tailor, he's still a wanted criminal you know.”

“He's a child!”

“He's a nuisance! He'll probably knock a candle over and set the shop on fire, it's in his nature.” he huffed.

Rachel paused and clenched her hands. She fixed him with a nasty glare.

“Don’t talk like you know him! That fire was *not* his fault! Master Hyde is a sweet boy who’s not done *anything* wrong.”

Lanyon hesitated, surprised by her sudden attitude change. Regardless he cleared his throat.

“Well, you seem to have forgotten about all the drinking and bar fights he’s known for. He's a bad influence. I don’t want him anywhere near Henry.”

Rachel rolled her eyes, “He is *not* a bad influence.”

She walked into the kitchen, swinging the door open and holding her arm out to gesture. “Edward Hyde is a charming young man who would never do anything wrong, much less convince Henry of all people to do so too!”

Both boys were on a chair, eating raw cookie dough directly from the bowl.

They blinked at the adults with their big round eyes.

Robert crossed his arms over his puffed chest, turning to her with an infuriating smirk.

Rachel sighed and got them cleaned up.

First Edward, then she balanced Henry on her hip while leaning over the sink. He was old enough to use the bar of soap by himself but she couldn’t resist wiping his rosy cheeks, humming while she dried his hands with her apron.

His feet barely touched the floor before Robert grabbed his arm and whisked him towards the door.

“Oi! And where do you think you’re going?” Rachel yelped.

“To the tailor, as I said.” Clearly believing he won that argument. Which he hadn't! She just… hadn't had the best timing.

“While he looks like that?” she gestured to Henry’s oversized and by now wrinkled clothes. “Robert, people are gonna think you kidnapped him.”

“Well how do you-” Lanyon made a shooing motion towards Edward, who was trying to follow them, “How do you expect the tailor to make him clothes without measuring him?”

Rachel rolled her eyes, sometimes she couldn't tell when he was being a helpless rich boy who couldn’t do anything himself or just plain stubborn. 

“I’ll take the measurements, they don’t need him there in person. I’ll measure both boys and you can take that to them. 

And say it’s for nephews come to town! No one’s gonna believe Robert Bleeding Lanyon of all people is taking in poor orphans.” That got a snort out of him.

Privately she didn't think it was a good idea to separate the two so soon, they only just stopped crying. And they'd been sticking close together since she and Robert found them. Seemingly feeling safe and comfortable with each other.

She snickered to herself. She couldn’t wait to tell Dr. Jekyll and Hyde how cute they were together.

Once they warmed up to the place the kids will be back at each other's throats in no time!

“Besides, you probably couldn't handle one child much less two.” she smirked.

Robert huffed, Take that! Who's winning now Robert?, and crossed his arms while sitting back down at the table.

“Fine, whatever, just measure them already.”

Rachel ushered the boys to her room, wrapped a measuring tape around the wiggly worms, and wrote a list of things for Lanyon to buy. With notes on fabric types and colors. Lots of Red and Green of course!

As much as she would have loved to see Edward in Eli's old clothes, they hadn't kept any from that age.

The neighborhood they had lived in was in constant need of hand-me-downs, and they hadn't been expecting to need things to remember him by…

Anyway!!!!! That just meant that it was time for her favorite activity:

Dress up time!

‘Edward Hyde’ was not enjoying dress up time.

They liked Rachel, the woman who found them, well enough. She was making them cookies after all, but she's so grabby!

Especially with him, he couldn’t go longer than a minute without being practically picked up in hugs or stuffed with various snacks.

Not that he didn’t want them, he was SUPER hungry after waking up, but the way she squealed when he said ‘Thank you’ hurt his ears.

Henry…it felt weird to call someone else his name. He tried to think of it like the two Jeffery’s in his class, who both had the same name. Instead of someone else who was him.

Henry didn’t like being prodded either. Whispering as much to him when she left the room with her note.

He agreed, and hoped whatever “Situation” the adults said they had to be here for would be over soon.

“Alright! Here are those cookies I promised you, *cooked* this time.” Rachel pouted, entering the room with a silver tray.

“You two are welcome to any books I have when you're done, I'm gonna be busy for a while.” With that she sat at some sort of machine. And started using it to stitch some fabric together.

He knew how to stitch! Well, kinda, Momma had shown him a few times, but putting dead animals back together was different than clothes.

He snuck glances at the boy who was also Henry, who occasionally glanced back.

He wanted to talk to him so bad, surely if they were the same person then he had done that too?

He wanted to ask so many questions, and try things he couldn’t do alone. It was thrilling to potentially have a friend that was willing to do weird stuff with him.

But for now Rachel was in the room, and adults never liked his ‘science’ much.

The two of them sat in silence and ate their cookies.

After what felt like hours the woman straightened up with a pop in her back.

“Whew! Two pairs of shirts and pants in record time! Ready to try them on?”

He looked up and nodded eagerly, dropping the dreadfully boring romance novel, “Yeah! It’s so cold in here.”

She whipped her head to look at him, pigtails flying.

“Oh! I’m so sorry Edward, I should have noticed! I’ll get you some blankets and more of Jekyll's socks, I’m sure we can layer them til you're warm again!”

He was sure she could layer them to the point that he would never walk again.

“Er, no thanks! The clothes will be fine.” he said, dodging another hug.

Henry snickered softly, out of Rachel's hearing. He snuck around and inspected the clothes she put together for them.

They were nothing fancy, buttonless white shirts and coal black pants. The stitching for both of them looked to be black too, but upon closer inspection it was actually a dark green, it seemed she had a lot of green lying around.

He wondered if she would notice if they took out the thread later, or if this was a ‘gift’ they'd have to rewear, like with his extended family.

“Well, when you two are done, come back to the kitchen and I’ll make you something more filling than cookies!” she said, and muttered, “God knows you two don't eat enough.”

“Yes ma’am.” they said in unison. 

With another squeak and a giddy grin she shut the door behind her.

A few minutes later, the door slowly creaks open. And two heads pop out.

Archer was losing his mind. Maybe he saw wrong? Or was finally going mad like the general public believed.

Surely something had happened to his head because he could have sworn he just saw a child.

Two even.

“Uh…did you see that?” he asked Bird, welding pen loose in his grip.

Bird looked up from adjusting one of his contained moss cultures, “Hmm? See what mate?”

Archer was leaning comedically far in his chair to see out the door, cord stretching to its limit.

“Just. Two little…I don’t know, ghosts maybe? One of Maijabi’s do you think?”

Bird raised an eyebrow, “Something on the loose in the society again? Should we tell the others?”

“Uh, could be my imagination.” he said, but set the pen down where it wouldn't burn anything. He stretched his arms above his head and groaned.

“Well, I’m overdue fer a break anyway, it’s been a while since anything interesting’s happened around here.”

Flowers was on the hunt.

She was on her way to the kitchens for a bite when she saw a short shadow dart through the common room.

Fortunately she had all sorts of equipment in her pockets, a true scientist is always prepared! But for some reason her emf reader wasn’t picking anything up.

Not under a couch… not behind this case…

The clack of shoes alerted her to someone approaching but she was more interested in the sound of wheels or metal boots.

“Hello Flowers, what are you looking for?” Tweedy then, she should remember to ask about some more batteries before he left. Her mosquitoes were too small to include a charging port.

“A small robot,” she said, checking under a table, “ ‘bout waist height. I think one of Pennybrigg’s creations is on the loose.”

“Oh, is that what I saw? I thought Ito shrank someone again.” he laughed loudly.

“Yeesh, that woman can be cruel when she's pissed off. Still can’t believe Dr. Jekyll taught her how to do that.” she shuddered.

Tweedy leaned on an armchair, derailed from whatever he’d been doing, “Actually I heard it was Hyde, everyone forgets he is Jekyll’s lab assistant.”

“Ah, well I’ll believe Hyde did that.”

On the floor above, Lavender rushed in, skidding to a stop before the railing. A large net slung over her shoulder.

“Excuse me! Has anyone seen any kids around here?”

Flowers and Tweedy looked up at her in shock.

“Kids?! I thought that was a robot?” Flowers gaped.

“Well *I* thought it was one of our creatures. I saw something slip out of our lab and was chasing it, but it turns out there's actually human children running around the society!” Lavender wheezed.

“I can’t emphasize enough how dangerous this place is for kids.”

The two on the ground floor looked at each other, slack-jawed, then scrambled to help her search.

“Well, we’ll just hope none of your creatures slipped out after them!”

By now it had spread throughout the society that somehow, for some reason, there were children there.

A good amount of lodgers were gathered in a random hallway, loudly trying to figure out what was going on.

“Is it true? Are there really children here?” someone asked.

“Sure are!” Pennybrigg laughed, “I saw them with my own eyes!”

“Huh, I thought that's what that was but I didn't think anyone would be dumb enough to let kids in here.” 

“Does anyone know how many? We can’t have any left behind that's for sure.”

“Just two. I had to chase them out of my lab.” Griffin huffed, “The damn brats laughed at me.”

That earned a few snickers from the very mature adults in the room.

“How’d they even get in here is my question.”

“Well, it’s not like we keep the doors locked, it's probably just some curious teens here for a lark.”

“No, they looked younger than that. What if they're lost and need help?”

“Has anyone seen Dr. Jekyll? He’ll want to know about this.”

“Screw Jekyll! We don’t need him to hold our hands all the time, we can find two kids by ourselves!”

“But if they get hurt it’ll reflect badly on the society!”

The crowd murmured in worry, with people either confirming they locked their labs or resolving to. Luckett cursed and sprinted off right then, almost losing his hat in his haste.

“Then we’ll just find them before they get hurt! Come on, less talking, more looking!” someone said, clapping their hands loudly.

With that the crowd split off into different hallways.

“I GOT ‘EM!”

Twenty minutes later there came a cry from Ranjit Helsby.

Like a flock of birds the lodgers descended upon him. Cheering and pushing to see his catch.

“You cheeky buggers can’t hide from us!” Helsby crowed.

The exploratory bathynaut was carrying one child in each hand.

Scruffed and struggling like kittens, the two were yelping and crying for help.

They seemed to be about the same age. One was brunette, with a healthy flush, and dark brown eyes. He was yelling to be put down and kicking his legs in the air.

The other was smaller, frailer, a little pale but was squirming and kicking the same. He had a wild shock of blond hair, and quite the set of lungs, his voice quickly growing hoarse from his shouting.

The outfits they were wearing were odd. They weren't anything fancy, though they certainly weren't the rags worn by street urchins. Bizarrely, neither of them were wearing shoes. Just plain clothes with visible stitching.

Contemplative, Flowers reached into her pocket.

“Oh Helsby, put them down already!” Cantilupe cried, “They’re damn near the verge of tears!”

Sure enough the boys looked like they were about to start bawling. With the blond starting to hiccup, and the brunette's lip wobbling dangerously.

Pouting, Helsby did, trusting the wall of lodgers to prevent their escape.

Predictably the boys were off the second their feet touched the floor. Everyone reaching arms out and bumping into each other to catch them.

However they didn't try to escape, simply darting for the nearest person wearing a dress. Who happened to be Chabra.

They crashed into her, nearly knocking her off balance. She startled but didn’t pull away. The small boys took hold in fistfuls and buried their faces in her skirt.

Chabra leaned down and awkwardly, cautiously, put her hands on their backs.

“Aww, guys we scared them! They're just babies!” Archer cooed from the crowd, triggering a flood of coos from everyone else.

The blond one peeked out to give a glare, but it was watered down by his red nose and big eyes.

“W-Who are you people? Leave us alone!”

Lavender curiously offered her skirt to the boy closest to her, the brunette.

He eyed it for a moment, then took the bait, reaching a pudgy hand out to the fabric. He didn’t grab on though, only running a hand over it a few times.

Incapable of going one at a time, the lodgers began bombarding the two with questions.

“Are you lost?”

“Do you need us to find your parents?”

“Who sent you??”

“Wot? Nobody-”

“Yeah what? They're literally children!”

“That's what they want you to think!”

“Do you want to see me set this plant on fire?”

“What are your names?”

“Hen-er- Ed-”

“Henderson you say, I had a cousin named that, but my uncle's name wasn’t Hender!”

“Oh, shut up Bryson!”

“No my names-!”

“Do you know someone by the name of Rachel Pigdley?”

The two boys look up at that.

Amidst the swarm of questions, Flowers had managed to win their attention, the other lodgers quieting down attentively.

The boys hesitate, suspicious. They whisper to each other, not even Chabra able to hear despite still leaning at an awkward angle.

“Do *you* know Rachel?”

Flowers puffed in pride at her hypothesis being confirmed. She relaxed her grin into a softer, hopefully reassuring smile.

“I do, she's the Day Manager. Next to Dr. Jekyll, she's the boss around here. Though she’s quite nice when you get to know her.”

Pushing someone out of the way, she approached the boys and carefully knelt by them.

She reached into her pocket. And turned it inside out.

“You see? Rachel’s a friend of mine. She sewed some pockets into my dress for me.” Flowers showed the boys the stitching on her inner pockets. The thread was a lighter shade of green than theirs, to match her dress, but visibly the same pattern and spacing.

She could have done them herself but these ones had been thanks for fixing an alarm clock Hyde had broken when he came in a window once.

This more than anything seemed to convince the boys. They let go of Chabra completely and leaned over her pocket like curious birds.

“Yeah! Rachel patches up some of my stuff too!” Sinnet jumped in.

He raised the elbow of his shirt, where a large brown patch was surrounded by some soot that had never washed out.

Some of the others pitched in, getting the idea.

“Yeah mine too!”

“And me!”

The two boys seem convinced and relax fully. A few people let out sighs of relief that they wouldn't have crying kids on their hands.

“Do you live here too?” asked the blond, looking around at all the people.

Sinnet looked at him quizzically, “Too?”

“Yeah, like Rachel and Robert.”

“Oh, yeah! Can't say I know any Roberts, though.”

“They mean Dr. Lanyon dear. Dr. Robert Lanyon, our co-founder?” Lavender sighed.

“Huh, I didn't think he liked kids, you suppose they’re new recruits of some kind?”

“Do we look like babysitters? Half the things in this building could kill a child like *that*!” Luckett snapped his fingers.

To everyone’s surprise the two boys gasped in excitement, “Really?!”

They didn't look scared, they looked eager. And… curious?

“Er…yeah actually. Do you… want to see them?”

Lavender smacked the man on the shoulder, “Luckett!”

“Come on! You saw their faces!  Remember when you were that age and curious about the world? I'd bet anything these two are scientists!” he nodded confidently.

That got some excited whispers. Everyone turned to look at the two boys.

Their mismatched eyes were open as wide as possible, jaws dropped. “You-you’re scientists?” asked the brunette.

Nods from the crowd.

They looked at each other, then back. “We’re scientists!!!”

“That settles it! Let’s give them the grand tour!!”

The lodgers broke into cheers and lifted the boys up, prancing up the stairs as fast as they could.

As the others raced towards the nearest lab, Cantilupe and Maijabi followed at a more leisurely pace.

Once they reached the landing, the rapid click of flats managed to reach their ears.

Glancing over, they watched as Rachel ran through the halls and the common room. Calling out and frantically checking behind furniture.

“Oh, there's Miss Pidgley. I was beginning to think something had happened to her to have left those boys alone so long.” said Cantilupe.

Maijabi squinted, adjusting his eyepatch, “Hm, least she could’ve done was give us a heads up if there were new lodgers. It’s not like her.”

She paused to take a breath and called out again, “Edward! Henry! Edwaaaardd!!”

“Ah, that explains it, Hyde’s on the loose again.” Cantilupe giggled.

“Ha! That'll keep her busy fer a while. Suppose we’ll have to ask about the boys later then.”

Cantilupe nodded in agreement and they carried on behind the others.

Rachel checked the candelabras to make sure no candles were knocked over.

[tellmeallaboutit]

knock knock (Raphael x F!Player)

Chapter 4, In Which You Attend A Very Special Event (Part 1)

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

(you'll see full art when I finish because it's spoilery as fuck I realized (too late))

SUMMARY: You accidentally the whole Coca-Cola bottle summoned Raphael (or so you'd think) to Earth.

TAGS: meta romance, psychological horror, smut, the character is the player, Raphael is after you, you wanted him, you invited him to our world, he accepted your invitation

RATING: explicit

AO3

Chapter 4

“Buonasera”, Raphael leaned against the doorframe, taking in your appearance. "You look ravishing," he said before giving you a brief kiss on the cheek. 

You could feel his light stubble grazing against your skin. Notes of cherries and leather wafted off of him. No sulphur.

Ravishing was perhaps too grand a term, but you put in your best effort. You wore a black dress. While choosing, you went through wanting to be extravagant, then classic, then unconventional, then elegant again, and landed on a little black dress because you thought the devil in a suit would like it.

He, for his part, looked immaculate (of course). His crisp white shirt was expertly pressed, a sleek black waistcoat around his torso. His trench coat hung open, and he played with his car keys.

That surprised you. You had imagined he’d have a chauffeur in a black peak cap, driving a long black limousine. Could Raphael even drive a car? Did he learn to drive for you? Is it difficult to learn to drive a car? You had no driving licence and no idea.

"Thank you, come on in," you invited, breathing in and out low and steady. Did this invitation hold any significance, like with vampires? "I'll just grab my bag and I am ready to go. Do I need to take anything? My wallet?"

You were slowly getting used to the thought of Raphael being real, you mused to yourself. Well, real. At least a constant hallucination in your life.

"Only if you are planning to offend me," he replied with a laugh. “And I hope you are not”.

Raphael followed you into your flat, taking in the surroundings with a half-pitiful, half-amused expression that said “I'm not saying anything because I am well-mannered, but I'm thinking a lot to myself." Well, yes. Not the House of Hope, not even an upper scale apartment, just a run-down studio, forty-six square metres, overdue for some renovation. What more could a young professional afford in today's economy?

Raphael briefly glanced at your open laptop with disinterest, then his eyes lingered on your neatly made bed with its white, slightly faded linen. A small smile formed on his lips as if he entertained a certain thought.

You had entertained quite some thoughts about him while lying on that very bed. 

Snatching your phone, keys, and card holder, you cleared your throat and put on an "I'm prepared for whatever comes next" expression as Raphael's eyes moved from the bed to settle between your breasts.

Not in a suggestive way.

"Oh...you are Catholic?" His tone suddenly shifted - was it cautious, repulsed, or bewildered? 

"No, I am not religious," you responded, shaking your head and taking a step towards the exit. Raphael didn't budge. The raised eyebrow at the cross around your neck hinted that he wasn't entirely convinced. "You mean the cross? My mother gave it to me for protection and… ugh, protection," you added.

“The age gap between us was not lost on me, but I never imagined you were still young enough to seek fashion advice from your mother," he remarked with a smile that didn't quite reach his eyes.

It was clear what he wanted - the cross had to go. You recalled the black screen in the video and your own possessed, sickly face.

The cross stays on. 

You didn’t believe in God (well, you did believe a bit more now), but the cross stays on. Even during sex. Especially during sex.

“Does the cross bother you?”, you asked.

"Why would it bother me?", he questioned. "Because I am the devil?"

Oh, there you go. Is it confession time already? 

You remained silent, refusing to fall into a trap again. Let him say what he wanted.

He did not say anything, but he extended his hand and gently grasped the cross. Shit. Shit. Raphael traced his thumb along the edges almost as if he was trying to decipher its meaning.

There was no recoil, no burning, no hissing. Part of you hoped there would be. Part of you thought there should be. Then again, there is no Christ in Toril. 

"Ah, the agony! It burns, the Holy Symbol, it burns!" Raphael made a half-hearted attempt at a pained grimace before letting go of your cross. "Yes, after you referred to me as Raphael twice, I did some investigating. A computer game devil, is he not?”

Referring to a video game as "a computer game" was a very authentic boomer move, you had to admit. 

Two can play this game, Raphael.

"Well, I wouldn't say Raphael is THE devil," you said casually. "He's just A devil."

Raphael tilted his head in amusement. 

There was something oppressive about his presence, the way he stood taller than you, the way he took up more space than he should have, making your apartment look tiny.

“To be fair”, you continued. ”He’s not even that. He’s a cambion, half human, one of the lowest beings in the levels of hells. He likes calling himself a devil for effect though; probably gets a kick out of scaring people.”

Definitely gets a kick out of scaring people. There, you said it. Now let's see if Raphael would drop the act.

You held your breath as silence stretched between you - five seconds...four...three...two...one...

Would your screams reach the neighbours?

Would they call the police?

And if they did, would the police even help? What happens if they shoot him? Will he bleed black blood? Why were you even thinking about that right now?

"Well," Raphael finally broke the silence and placed a gentle hand on your waist, guiding you towards the door. "Judging by his many admirers, it seems some people quite enjoy being scared. Shall we depart?"

God damn it.

You gave a quick nod, trying to subtly adjust your right stocking which felt slightly loose. You had bought them on Sunday but hadn't tried them on yet (which you should have done). Raphael noticed but pretended not to, his hand on your back guiding you downstairs.

The door closed and you wished it farewell. 

Who knows if you'll ever see it again.

****

Raphael's car was exactly what one would expect from him if he did drive one - flashy, shiny, predatory; a sleek beast painted in blood red. The kind of car that turned heads and started conversations among curious onlookers. 

The kind of car that made teenage boys gather around in awe, wondering how he could afford it and why he was driving it in this neighbourhood. 

And so they did, and so you stumbled upon it, surrounded by admirers.

"Nice car, sir!" exclaimed one of them. "Is it a Maserati? A Gran Turismo, right? How fast can it go from zero to sixty?"

"In less than four seconds. Work hard and you might own one someday too, boy," Raphael replied. “More than one if you are any good”.

"Uh-huh," the teenager said, not entirely convinced. You couldn't blame him; you were not entirely convinced either.

You considered yourself a socialist and always voted left (well, you voiced your opinions more often than you voted, but still), but a socialist getting into a Maserati was a bit of an oxymoron, so you decided to put politics aside for tonight. Besides, you weren't sure you wanted to hear Raphael's political opinions on... well, anything at all.

"Or you could always sell your soul to me. Is that not right, Anya?", Raphael turned to you with a playful wink. Now it was your turn to say "uh-huh" and adjust your stocking again. 

The gaggle of boys took their cue and dispersed as Raphael stepped forward to open the passenger door for you. You tried to sit down as gracefully as you could, but the leather creaked against your skin and your dress rose to obscene heights. 

Quickly, you tugged it back down.

Without a word, Raphael started the car and pulled away from the curb. He was no stranger to this routine - following traffic laws, navigating through the city streets. He felt at ease behind the wheel, it’s not the first time he has driven a sports car.

Something didn't feel right. It all seemed like too much effort; the complicated act, blending into society, creating a false background. Raphael knew who he was, and so did you. So why did he insist on pretending to be someone else? Not even someone entirely different, someone so clearly inspired by himself.

He must be testing you, but for what reason, to what end, for what? Loyalty? Endurance? Ability to take psychic damage?

There is always another truth: there is no bloody devil (of course there isn’t). There is a young woman going through acute psychosis in isolation. You might be now banging your head in a room with very soft carpets on the walls, imagining yourself to be driving in a fancy car with a man you fancied-oh-so-much. 

You need proof. You need solid proof. For your own sanity. The thing is, when you need to prove that you are sane, you are half-insane already. 

"I must say, this is not the safest neighbourhood for a young woman living alone," Raphael said, scanning the area with a wary eye.

Oh, the neighbourhood was fine, he was the most dangerous thing around these parts by far. At times, you would encounter a few junkies asking for spare change or hear about your neighbour getting mugged. 

“I am afraid that’s all I can afford. Have you seen the rent prices nowadays?”, you chuckled. “Well, you probably haven’t.”

“On the contrary,” Raphael shook his head. “I am well aware. I have several investment properties inside and outside the city.”

“Well, that is exactly why I cannot afford anything nicer.”

"That can change at a moment's notice," he said and gave you a sly smile. "Quicker than you might think."

You couldn't suppress your coquettish grin; his words reminded you of his generous gift from earlier - a cool grand handed over just like that. Not that you were mercantile (not that you ever had much of a chance to be, either); but if you were living in an imaginary world, might as well imagine yourself wealthy too.  Socialism is…

Well, for real life.

"Where are we headed?" you asked as he merged onto a busy street. “Is there an address?”

"Why? Do you want to send it to your mother?" Raphael's eyes stayed fixed on the road ahead. “For protection?”

Still cannot let go of you wearing the cross?

"Yes, I do. Just in case you decide to keep me locked up in chains in your basement," you joked. 

Sort of joked.

He glanced at you, and you couldn't help but wonder if you had finally hit a nerve.

"On our first date? I am a gentleman, an old-fashioned one at that," he retorted, feigning insult. "I'll ensure you reach home safely, plant a goodnight kiss and wish you sweet dreams."

Not exactly how you envisioned the night ending, but you chose not to argue.

“The address is Grand Rue 3, the old theatre,” Raphael said. “If you do not make it home tonight, tell your mother to check the basement.”

It’s the centre, the very centre. Nobody gets killed in the centre of the city. In the bushes, in the slums, in the outskirts, but not in the centre. It’s too much hassle.

Right?

“The one at the street corner? I didn’t think it was open.”

“For the general public, it is not”, Raphael said. “For the few who are invited, it is.”

You drove in silence for some time, and then you spoke up:

“So, is there a play there or…”

Hopefully there was also a dinner, you thought as you nervously adjusted your stocking, because you were so bloody hungry.

“You will find out enough”, Raphael said. “Anya, dear, I have seen the lace on your stockings in every little detail already, so do not bother pulling them up.”

You hastily pulled up your stockings.

“They’re new...I think I took the wrong size. Too large.”

"Well then, take them off. There is no use trying to keep them from slipping down, and it is quite a distracting sight."

You gave him an incredulous look; unsure if he was serious.

He seemed pretty serious about it. That’s some old-fashioned gentleman.

"Take them off?", you repeated.

As the car slowed down to halt near a corner street, you contemplated checking if the doors were locked but decided against it - no subtle way to do that.

"You heard me correctly," Raphael confirmed, leaning back and taking his time to examine you. 

Yeah, okay. Okay. That’s a perfectly normal and a justified request, or at least you would act as if it were.

With some hesitation, you removed your shoes first and then gradually rolled down your stockings to reveal your freshly waxed legs. You tried to make it look sensual but ended up feeling more like a rookie stripper or a soldier executing orders.

His eyes were glued to you as you undressed. It was the sort of stare that makes skin tingle.

It felt pretty good.

By the time you pulled your stockings off, your panties were much wetter than when you got into the car. Raphael knew it, and you knew that he knew it. He had access to every dirty little fantasy in your browser history. 

On the other hand, you were completely oblivious to his kinks; the only hints you got were Haarlep and the debtors in the House of Hope. It's hard to say which of those is the most disturbing.

"Such exquisite feet," he complimented. "Lovely nail polish. I do adore crimson red."

What was it about the way he said it that felt so... dirty?

Raphael then glanced at the scar on your knee and asked, "Now, is there anything else you bought just for me that keeps slipping?"

Everything you wore you bought new for him, panties to bra, except for the cross.

"I am just teasing," he chuckled, cutting you off just as your lips parted to retort. "We have arrived."

Raphael signalled someone outside. A uniformed valet appeared at your side of the door, reaching for the handle with his gloved hand. The door swung open with a soft click.

A cool gust of wind brushed against your bare legs as you stepped out into one of the quieter corners in the city centre. You couldn't exactly recall when this quaint theatre was built but if asked, you'd guess it was a relic from early 20th century opulence. Red bricks and stone columns stood tall amidst modern buildings like a stubborn old man refusing to budge.

Raphael casually tossed the keys into the air with a quick flick of his wrist. 

The valet caught them mid-flight.

***

You were not sure what you had expected.

A password in Latin to enter, people in mysterious white masks, cultists chanting in circles around Raphael, hailing him as their new god, something out of Eyes Wide Shut. The reality was much more mundane. Still high-end, but lacking the unhinged allure you might have imagined. Just the private turf of the rich, the only odd thing being the electric entrance sign that read:

"MAGIC THEATER. ENTRANCE NOT FOR EVERYBODY. FOR MADMEN ONLY!"

Since you could pass the threshold, you assumed you were mad enough to pass the bar.

As you stepped inside, your eyes met those of an older man with a rugged face and a thin scar under his eye in the cloakroom. Raphael handed him his pair of identical black iPhones and AirPods, and then it was your turn to do the same.

It took you a moment to process the fact that Raphael had gotten himself not one but two iPhones just to pass himself off as a human, high-profile lawyer. You followed suit, handing over your electronic devices after one last long look. The last hour was the longest you'd gone without looking at your phone.

queen-of-the-bored: look we are all freaking out after what happened to your twitch

queen-of-the-bored: that’s some creepy pasta shit PLEASE write something PLEASE

“E’ un piacere rivederla capo! Che bella ragazza che ha rimediato!”, the man's words were directed at Raphael as he helped you out of your jacket.

“Vero, vero”, Raphael nodded in agreement. “E’ stupenda e non sa nemmeno di esserlo”.

What were they saying? They were talking about you, you could feel it.

“Non c'è niente di meglio!”, the man continued with a sycophantic grin on his face as he took Raphael's trench coat. He had a rose and a skull tattoo on his wrist.

“Beh, è completamente fuori di testa. Pensa che io sia il diavolo, in senso letterale”. 

“Le più sexy sono quelle pazze, capo!”

Your knowledge of Italian was minimal at best. The only words you understood were "devil" and "sexy." Neither of which gave any insight into the situation, and that these words fit perfectly together you had known before. 

The theatre was converted into a private club and restaurant, keeping the stage, but adding the chairs and the table and the sofas, the leather-bound books on the walls, the mahogany tables, the smell of cigars and whisky in the air. The only infernal or infernal-looking symbol you could spot was a square and a compass sigil on red velvet curtains. 

Everyone knew Raphael. 

A crowd of well-dressed men and women reached out to greet him; they exchanged words, smiles, kisses on the cheek (was that an Italian thing?), pats on the back. They looked at you as if you were beautiful or interesting. 

Was it because you were supposed to be beautiful, accompanied by such a man?

Raphael’s hand never left your back as he exchanged pleasantries. He seldom spoke English to them. French, Italian, German, Russian, Turkish. The sound of a foreign language can be pretty, but it can also be eerie, discerning, the us-versus-them thing. Hearing them speak was rather the latter.

You couldn't guess who these people were. There is very little difference between how a businessman, a politician or a criminal look; besides, these three professions were perfectly compatible. 

The debtors, probably; not literally in chains yet, but certainly owing something and in some kind of servitude.

The prime spot in the room was yours—or rather, it was Raphael's. The table had been marked, a lone initial "R" carved into its surface.

When the waiter suggested an aperitif, you selected a Negroni Sbagliato, because you thought it sounded sophisticated (and so did Olivia Cooke), Raphael ordered "bourbon and blood" because of course he would. You didn't even question if he meant actual blood.

As you chewed on your lip, your eyes darting around the room, Raphael reached across the table. His fingers brushed against yours before he lifted your hand to his lips. “Anya, may I make a small confession?"

"Yes?"

A soft kiss was pressed into your knuckles as he murmured, "I am delighted to have you here with me tonight. Believe it or not, I am but a lonely tired man in a dire need of pleasant company."

His genuine sincerity, the lines around his eyes and the hint of sadness in them disarmed you for a moment. 

Who the fuck was this man?

Before you could answer, the curtain opened to reveal a small figure behind it.

It was a dwarf. Not the fantasy dwarf, an actual dwarf - you struggled to recall the politically correct term for them - was it "little person?". He was like something from a lucid dream: crimson suit-clad, slick-backed hair on pale skin, moving with an almost rhythmic grace.

Right. Twin Peaks. Could Raphael read your thoughts? Did he know you were thinking about Laura Palmer?

Or perhaps he too was a David Lynch fan?

"Welcome, dear ones," the little man said, his voice surprisingly deep. "I am grateful for your presence tonight. Some of you I have known since the millennia, while others are new to my realm."

He was looking at you. He meant you.

Raphael squeezed your hand tighter, fingers intertwined, an oddly intimate gesture, as if you’d been dating for a long time. You squeezed back, feeling comforted and sheltered in his touch.

“There are rules that govern this place”, the little man continued. “Rules, as well all know, are under no circumstances not to be broken, or there would be consequences. Same rules apply to everyone”.

“What are the rules?”, you whispered.

Raphael flashed you a wide smile, wrinkles in the corner of his eyes.

“Patience, he will tell us”, he whispered back. “They are never the same. If they were, would that be interesting?”

Consistency would be nice, you thought.

“You, little miss!”, the little man pointed his finger at you. “Yes, you, you specifically, little miss, little-miss-with-the-cross. Tell me, how well can you distinguish reality from fantasy?”

Oh, how you despise being the centre of attention. All eyes on you. All of them. These rich, strange, scary people looking at you and your naked legs and your weird knees and your…

“Not very well”, you said. “Not very well at all, I am afraid”.

The dwarf cackled, Raphael followed suit, everybody laughed, and you were not joking at all. 

“Yes, she is remarkably honest”, Raphael praised, giving you an adoring kiss on the cheek. “A wonderful quality, is it not?”

“Shall we give it a little try, little miss?”, the dwarf asked.

Why you? Out of all people, why did it have to be you? Because you were with him?

"Come now, don't be shy”, Raphael chimed in. “There is nothing to fear in this place."

(Except me).

"Would you lend a hand, R?" The dwarf turned his attention to Raphael.

“It would be my absolute pleasure," he replied and positioned himself behind your chair. "Eyes forward," he instructed as you attempted to swivel towards him.

Raphael’s fingers gently grazed your cheek before sliding behind your head. 

You felt the soft fabric of a blindfold being secured over your eyes and instinctively clutched the armrests of your chair tighter. The room was plunged into darkness, every sound amplified; the rustling of his clothes, the creaking of the chairs beneath you, the whispering and giggling of others in the room, and your own heartbeat thumping loudly in your ears. 

Raphael's hands rested on your shoulders.

"I want you to try this and tell me what it tastes like", came the dwarf’s voice from somewhere ahead, as the waiter (you presumed) set the table before you. “Let imagination be your guide.”

Taste? Taste without looking? You heard the sound of Raphael picking up a fork and piercing something in front of you. 

“Open wide”, Raphael said. 

If you could say no when he would make such a request, you wouldn’t be here in the first place.

So open wide is what you did and let Raphael push something between your lips and onto your tongue. You sucked and then bit down. 

The texture was unlike anything you had ever tasted before - bubbly, tenderly sweet with a savoury undertone, slightly slick and a bit challenging to chew. 

You didn’t have the faintest clue what it could be.

“It’s an…”, you took a wild guess. “it’s a.. it’s a piece of lamb in some sugar sauce, I think?”

There were a lot of excited laughs and giggles at your response. 

What did you try? 

What the fuck did you try? Your hands darted to your eyes to remove the blindfold, but were halted mid-way by a soft but very insistent touch.

“Keep the blindfold on until instructed otherwise,” Raphael warned before removing it himself.

You looked down at your plate and let out a loud exhale. Tiny glazed apple pieces, arranged in this typical Michelin restaurant artsy fashion, sat innocently on the large round dish. Why did the thought of meat cross your mind? What triggered that thought?

"Did your imagination run a little too wild there, little miss?" the dwarf laughed. “Seeing things that are not there?”

I know what you are all playing at, you thought bitterly. And I know who the fuck you all are, Raphael from Baldur’s Gate and the little man from Twin Peaks and I am not fucking crazy despite all your insinuations. 

“Dear ones, tonight we will serve five courses in complete darkness. Under no circumstance should you remove your blindfold; if needed, our waitstaff will guide you to restrooms. Guess what we serve tonight - at evening's end, we reveal the truth of it all”.

You said nothing while looking at the glistening apple. You never thought so much of an apple before; of how structure and taste and smell should be, of how it would (should) feel against your gums and teeth.

You kept staring at the glazed apples and thought of all the disgusting things it might have been instead. Brains? Tongues? Worms? A roasted dwarf leg?

“Rapha..”, you began and quickly corrected yourself. “Raul, just one thing, I… I do not eat human flesh”.

His response came after two slow blinks.

“Thank you for that wonderful piece of information. What am I supposed to do with it?”.

Not serving human meat would be a good start.

"Oh my little girl," Raphael cooed as he tenderly stroked your cheek. 

(why do you allow him to call you his little girl why this is disgusting this is so hot)

"You don’t seriously think…”, he continued. “Even if I had such inclinations - which I don't - cannibalism is illegal in this country.”

Oh yes, of course, he was a very lawful, very rule-abiding devil.

“And if it was legal?”, you asked.

"Anya," Raphael sighed heavily, "Your questions intrigue and frighten me in equal measures. Now, put on your blindfold." He added when he saw your hesitation: "Of course I will do the same - same rules apply”.

You trusted him to do as he said, since you put on your blindfold first. 

"As a warm-up, we have something that may bring back memories of your childhood," the waiter announced as he set down a dish in front of you. Your fingers searched and found the accompanying spoon. 

You breathed in the scent, which was so mild it told you nothing. Even if it turned out to be terrible or disgusting, you still wanted to taste it; you still wanted to do rather than not do; after a lifetime of not doing rather than doing.

The first spoonful exploded with nostalgia – kindergarten, afternoon naps, finger paints. The creamy texture and subtle sweetness with a touch of honey. 

Quite lovely, actually.

On the other side of the table, you heard a strangled gasp as if someone had just been forced to eat live worms.

"You don't like it?" you asked.

"I do not," Raphael responded gruffly. "But I am well aware that was the intention, so my compliments to the chef."

You wondered that a lot about him. The motherless childhood, growing up in hells, an evil bastard for a father. A chanceless, bleak fate, to be born evil, among evil, for evil, all privilege and no hope. If only Raphael would answer truthfully about that instead of spinning tales about some Italian village.

"I remember when we first met when you mistook me for an actor," Raphael mused out of nowhere. "That's when I first thought we had a certain… connection."

“I thought it happened way earlier”, you said, because it happened way earlier for you.

"Ha! True, I thought you were an exquisitely stunning woman the moment I walked into this cafe, if a little... skittish... which, I must say, adds to your allure. But then again, I've had my fair share of beauties... No matter. You see, I do have an affinity for the theatre".

“Oh really? How surprising”, you laughed pretty humorlessly. The ongoing joke about "I am not who you think I am" was getting rather stale for your taste.

"Indeed," came Raphael's self-assured response. "This place owes much to... ever heard of Antonin Artaud and his Theatre of Cruelty?"

"No, but it sounds like something you would love," you said.

"You hardly know me well enough to make such judgements," he said. "And if you're implying that I'm cruel, rest assured that I am not; merely just." He paused before asking nonchalantly, "Do you mind if I light up?"

You shook your head, though he couldn't see it through his blindfold. He proceeded to light his cigarette regardless. You noticed a dance of light behind the fabric covering your eyes as Raphael took an indulgent, addicted inhale.

A twinge of regret stirred you; witnessing Raphael taking a drag would have been a sight. You’d bet that looked very old school and very villainous. Your Negroni was long gone, replaced by overly potent wine which you sipped on nonetheless.

“The problem with art, Arnaud thought, was the distance between the audience and the artist. The safe space. The little cosy chair you sit in, detached, protected, at a comfortable distance; never truly allowing art to flow through you”. 

"I thought the purpose of art was to explore dangerous themes in a safe space," you said.

"That's not exploration then; it's voyeuristic entertainment, nothing more," Raphael countered. “Art and safe space should not coexist in the same sentence.”

His cigarette smoke wafted towards you - sharp, biting, pungent with a metallic undertone not unlike rotten eggs left under the scorching sun for too long.

"Does it smell somewhat... off?" You blinked rapidly, trying to clear your stinging eyes.

You never smelled sulphur before, but you knew what it was the moment you smelled it.

“I beg your pardon?”, Raphael asked.

“The main course shall make you think of something - or someone - you crave for”, the waiter’s voice went straight into your ear, and you didn’t even hear him coming.

"I know exactly who it will make me think of," Raphael said slyly.

You took your first bite as if trying to drown out the scent. Spice, cherries, and raw beef so tender it practically melted on your tongue. Delicious. Sinfully delicious.

Just as you were about to enjoy your third bite, something warm and sinuous wrapped itself around your bare ankle and began to crawl upwards. Your meal lodged in your throat causing a coughing fit that rocked your body.

"Is the flavour too intense for your palate, my dear?", you could hear Raphael grinning. 

His tail, you realised as it ventured further up. The nerve of that fucking devil! Groping you with his tail and STILL pretending he was fucking Raul from a fucking Italian village!

"So, as I was saying," Raphael continued, his fork scraping against the plate as if nothing unusual was happening under the table. "Artaud wanted to eliminate aesthetic distance."

You reached down for his tail underneath the table. The thing had a mind of its own though; it slithered away swiftly before you could touch it. You tried to grab for it again, but the sneaky little bastard darted away, causing you to stumble under the table and end up between Raphael's legs in your blind chase.

"By transforming the theatre into a place where the spectator is exposed rather than pro..." You felt his hand rest gently on your head, "Anya, may I inquire what you are doing under the table?"

You froze. His hand gave you a light caress. 

"You know exactly what I am doing under the table," you managed to say through gritted teeth. "Looking for your goddamn tail."

Raphael's hand stopped in a half-stroke. For a fleeting moment, you imagined him pulling you closer by your hair until you were right up against his crotch.

"A tail?" He seemed genuinely perplexed at this point. "We may be lost in translation(*) here, but I assume what you're looking for is somewhat more... up."

Your mind conjured up an image of him showing you exactly where it was; unzipping his trousers and placing his cock between your lips.

Would you then open wide and give him a head right there, blindfolded, no questions asked, in a room full of strangers (and a weird dwarf) watching?

You would, wouldn't you? 

You wanted to touch him so badly, just one touch to see how hard he was for you; just one fleeting touch, maybe he wouldn't even notice?

"I am delighted that theatre talk has put you in such a playful mood," Raphael purred. "I did presume we would at least make it to dessert before…”

A wave of embarrassment washed over you at his words. You tumbled backwards onto the floor, right on your bum; bumped your head, too, pretty badly and pretty awkwardly.. 

"I wasn't... Damn, that's not what I..."

Raphael chuckled (you hated him in that moment) and your cheeks turned red. How dare he think you'd suck him off like that, in front of everyone?

Your heart pounded against your ribs as you tried to escape the four-legged table trap, bumping into everything you could bump into. The world turned on its axis for a moment as you finally crawled out from under the table, your legs shaking beneath you.

The smell of sulphur again. You lunged for where your glass should be, found it, almost knocked it over, caught it in time and drank the wine. You thought it would make you feel better, but it made you feel worse.

The tail decided to make a comeback and patted your thigh affectionately.

"I...excuse me," you stammered out, pressing a hand to your mouth. "I need to use the bathroom."

“I’ll escort you, ma’m”, the voice next to you said, and you jumped in surprise. Was the waiter here the entire time? Did he watch you stumble underneath the table?

What else was here the entire time? Who else?

Christ.

Well, fuck, no, not him. Anybody but him.

****

"R's new little pet, aren't you?" the words echoed off the marble walls of the bathroom as you entered. You saw a woman in the mirror, tracing her lips with a ruby red lipstick that matched her hair, and she said: "Careful."

She was older than you, but not old, mid-thirties maybe, but she looked like a woman who was thoroughly done with her life. A stale kind of beauty.

"Why?" you asked, your eyes never leaving hers in the reflection.

She laughed, as if you were asking something utterly ridiculous. Without ever giving you an answer, she gestured to four meticulously arranged lines on the marble countertop. "Want some? It's primo stuff. You won’t get any better"

You've never tried cocaine, nobody's ever offered you cocaine, you wouldn't know how to order it and you certainly wouldn't have the money for it. 

It's something that other people have done in the movies. The villains, the debauched, the corrupt elite.

"No thanks," you replied, "I'm already unhinged enough, I think."

Her high-pitched laughter filled the bathroom again. "Oh darling, we're all mad here. Absolutely fucking mad. Even me... Especially me."

"Who 'we'? What is this place?"

"The lodge? Why, a private playground." She gestured vaguely with her lipstick tube, as if to encompass everything around you. "His rules. His people. His theatre."

"And by 'him' you mean..."

Theoretically she could also mean the dwarf…

She laughed again, and you wished she'd just stop. "Oh, how sweet! You know exactly who 'he' is. The man who is going to fuck you tonight."

Okay, you hope it’s Raphael.

"I know who he is," you said, maintaining eye contact in the mirror. "But I thought Raphael had just arrived on Earth... I thought I was the one who summoned him here..."

"Summoned him? Like a demon or something?" She put another layer of lipstick on her lips, now facing forward. "'Raul likes them crazy,' they say, and boy they don't lie." 

She had just called him Raul.

What the fuck was going on?

"The one to summon him, ha," she sneered, spinning around to face you directly, her face inches away from yours. “We all think we're so special”.

"No, I don't," you said. "I never thought that. Never. Because I never was any special".

"Well that definitely makes you the special one. How about a kiss, special one?" 

How about what?

She leaned in closer still; her breath smelled of champagne and burnt caramel. You took a cautious step back.

"Oh-oh, look at her, such a tease. I can see why Raul brought you here."

That name again.

“Tell me about him”, you asked. “Tell me about that Raul”.

"Nah. No kiss, no tell", she replied nonchalantly while returning her gaze to the mirror. “Enjoy your evening.”

Next: Chapter 4, In Which You Attend A Very Special Event (Part 2).

(*) In some European languages, tail = cock (e.g. “Schwanz” in German).

[iwritenarrativesandstuff]

Hey is anyone up for more suffering? Because I noticed something that is... probably very obvious and I'm sure many of you have already noticed, but I, a first time manga reader, am kind of freaking out.

[ID: A set of two panels from Trigun Maximum Volume 8. A young Wolfwood sits next to baby Maylene, who is sleeping. He looks up at the sky. The next panel shows the distant silhouette of a bird. End ID.]

Birds are now associated with Wolfwood - he's carved them ever since he was a kid, and the entire theme of this chapter revolves around his musings of the price one pays of having the freedom of a bird - that is, that the bird struggles just to survive; that freedom has a cost. I have some thoughts on this, and Wolfwood's relation to it all - I daresay he's not the bird himself, and is caught in some mid-way hell where he receives the worst of both worlds: the struggle to survive while also denied his own freedom - like a bird with clipped wings. He looks up at it as a kid and starts to make his carvings, where I think the implication is, at some point, he used to look up and feel envy himself, before he became too jaded to see it as anything other than a pipe dream or a childish naivete. I could just keep rambling about the symbolism here but I want to get to the point.

Birds -> associated with Wolfwood. We agree?

This is also the volume where Wolfwood, in the present time, decides to act on his own will and free Vash, where Vash decides that "someone like him is all the reason I need to keep fighting". In the very next volume, Wolfwood will similarly find conviction in Vash. So basically, Vash helped this man, and it was enough to get him back on his feet - "if I could save just one person...". Wolfwood thought the world to be hopeless but just barely dares to believe in something brighter because Vash is still fighting; a spark of hope in the dark.

We're clear?

Great. Now go listen to the bridge of Tombi.

Hey, hear that bird call at the end? That stereotypical "bird of prey call"? Like... like the bird of prey in this chapter?

Hey. Look at the translated lyrics here if you don't know Japanese.

"If I could do one thing now

Until this life burns out

For someone in the dark

I want to be a small light"

This. This has to be intentional, right?

[eclairris]

Drabbles from Re-Playing AOM

OKAY SO- woe Spoilers and speculations upon ye

I'm still reflecting on the card that's deliberately put into Alice's room underneath a picture frame of the Deross family. It's probably just cut and dry like "ohhh Alice is a sacrifice" but I can get more nitpicky with it

On the back it says "Welcome to Join the Hunting Game" which could be two things

Either A really poor translation on IDV's part, and is further saying the obvious that Alice is a sacrifice (Which would make sense given how we've pretty much gotten hunter versions of da capo excluding her, if you count Frederick being a hallucination influenced by Orpheus' exposition, and how Melly is on the near horizon).

Or it could quite literally be saying "Here pookie, stop running and succumb to the delulu" and putting hunter Alice into concretion But I think it's also probably just saying regardless that Alice is the direct sacrifice that Orpheus believes will keep the games going (clearly something went wrong) given how lambs are treated within religion and folklore.

I also did replay It and select every visit option I could for that sweet loredrop and I haven't seen anyone talk about this either.

The person literally saying that is young orph (orphan, If you will). The whole muse corridor points into details about the raid itself, which is odd because just a cutscene prior was Alice getting chased by hallucinations down that same corridor. It got me thinking about how IDV developers have considered giving Alice a hunter form.

So what do I know about this bird?? Uh the bare minimum actually but it can serve as some type of drop with how the story's going. He's not saying Alice is the Nightingale. He's saying she's better than it, which could resort to the potentiality of hunter Alice taking on the form of a "nightingale" if we go off the fact that most identity swaps with heavy lore (at least in da Capo's case) is based on either regression, repression, or insecurities.

Norton - Repression. He's not keeping up face when it comes to his identity swap. Literally chaos incarnate. Orpheus - Projection. Nightmare can quite literally be called Orpheus' Mary Sue oc. That's the post. Mary/Frederick technically isn't influenced more by Frederick himself but rather Alice's way of seeing it. Which fucks up a lot but let's not talk about it. I'd say it leans more towards Identification.

Melly could potentially have some correlation to the odd point Orph brought up

"After all, there's a price to pay for being unfaithful, isn't that right Mrs. Plinius."

Which is probably saying that Mr good ol plinius wasn't loyal and probably either had an affair or did something behind melly's back.

If the point of Alice being braver than the Nightingale is anything to go off of and whatnot then it could be safe to say her identity could be based off that if she ever gets one. It could play off of her bravery and need to look towards the future as opposed to Orpheus being stuck in the past. It could also explain why we haven't heard or seen much when it comes to Nightingale, because of two reasons

they're saving her for some big story update much like the rest of the da capo identity swaps.

Orpheus has been PROVEN to be an unreliable narrator. Surely wanting to dissect Orpheus under a microscope isn't delusional enough.

[boygiwrites]

Harley D. Dixon 28

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📖Chapter List.

Author's Note.

I was lying last time. That wasn't a biggun. THIS is a biggun.

'Be careful, Dad.'

'I will, baby.'

I realize the others. 'Oh. And you too, I guess.'

'Real funny,' T-Dog signs, unimpressed.

The strongest of our group spare us no last glances as they turn away, with only five bullets and a handful of bolts between them. I sit next to Lori on the small bench, watching their backs retreat. The Thanton Memorial hospital. There it is, tall and beige like a school, but really more of a Hellbox filled with nasty surprises behind each one of the hundreds of little black windows. Glad it ain't me.

God. Nine miles. Two days. Sharpsburg, East of nowhere. We really made it. I guess I knew we would.

'You know this place.'

Herschel's already looking at me when I turn to him, his moustache curled around a smile.

'Just a feeling,' He adds.

'You're a mind reader,' I decide, regarding him with suspicion.

Herschel Greene; a wizard disguised as a Georgian farmer. I knew there was something up with him.

He doesn't respond, because I guess he don't want his cover blown. That or... Well, he's waiting for an answer.

'My Momma lived in this town.' Is all I supply him with after a time, because it ends the same way most stories do.

'I'm sorry.'

I shrug. It ain't anybody's fault. 'I don't know why I didn't tell nobody.'

'This town means something to you. We don't always share things like that.'

I guess. 'What about your Momma?'

'My Mother died when I was fairly young.' He admits easily, like somebody at peace. 'One day, my brother and I noticed she'd gone out into the rain to water the plants, and things were never quite the same for a long time after that.'

Oh. I've heard of that. People getting old, forgetting where their bedroom is, who their kids are.

It's hard to imagine Herschel as just a boy with a Momma.

Some days, it's even hard to imagine myself as just a girl, even though that's what I still am.

I offer him a lame smile.

'Let's talk about something a little happier,' He suggests, while over his shoulder, a flashlight glares across the inside of one of the second storey windows. 'I'm starting to think it's the end of December. That would mean it's Christmas soon.'

The light disappears.

I ignore it.

If only them pharmacies we checked this morning had anything in them besides rat shit and dust.

'Jesus' birthday party,' I muse.

That gets him to laugh. I think he's tryna distract me. 'Yes. It could even be tomorrow.'

'Really? How do you know?'

'Well, I suppose I don't. Do you like Christmas?'

Everybody likes Christmas. That is, at least, everybody likes presents.

'Yeah. My Meemaw had a really pretty tree.'

'The minute it turned December first, Maggie and Beth would always force everyone to put up ours.'

'Do they believe in Santa Claus?'

'Not anymore, I'm afraid.'

'And you?'

His eyes glint mischievously. 'Of course I do.'

I consider it. 'I don't think I do. I don't believe in the Easter Bunny, neither.'

Or God, but that's a different story.

'They didn't ever come to your house?'

'They came a few times, but I think they forgot about us. My friend Dylan said they're made up. The Christmas after that, I stayed up late to spy on Santa, but I just saw Merle and Dad carrying presents in from the truck. I never told them.'

'I guess Santa was too busy that night.'

'If he is real, I hope he's okay. The Easter bunny has lots of chocolate to eat, but... Santa might be hungry.'

I wonder if the walkers have made it to the North Pole yet. Knowing those assholes, they definitely have.

'You forget; — Santa has magic.'

'That's how he makes the sleigh fly, right?'

'Right. And all those cookies and all that milk... Well. He's got more than enough to last a lifetime.'

'So, you think he's okay?'

'I'm sure of it.'

'I would like some cookies and milk, too.'

The old man only laughs again, giving my knee a gentle pat as Carl leans forward, his mouth moving around some words.

When the boy gestures to me, Herschel translates.

'He asked me what we were talking about. He wants to tell you it's okay; Santa forgot about him too, one year.'

Carl sends me a thumbs up, trusting that the message got across well enough.

It did. I feel my smile widen.

It's wiped away when Lori suddenly lurches forward between us. Her chest wracks, wracks, wracks, a soft wad of phlegm flying past her lips and landing at her feet. My hand goes to her shoulder, squeezing reassuringly, as if that's gonna do anything useful. Her lungs, they must be clogged up like sponges filled with yoghurt, all that sickness and junk coming back up the way it went in.

Herschel's on his feet, bringing his thin hand down on her back, knocking the phlegm out of her.

I glance over my shoulder.

Lights; more of them, swooping over the glass, appearing and disappearing and reappearing.

A gunshot lighting up a window.

Please be okay, I think. Lori won't make it like this.

Facing forward again, Lori's got her hand splayed over the base of her throat, coughing dryly. She takes the water bottle Carol is offering to her, and gulp, gulp, gulps down the last of what's inside, deflating when she's done, cradling her big belly.

Are you okay, I ask aloud as I loosen my grip on her, hoping it sounds how it's supposed to sound.

She smiles at me in the slightest of ways, putting her hand over mine before I can pull it away.

She nods, I'm okay, honey.

I nod back, because that's good. I don't believe her for a second, but that's good.

'There was a gunshot,' Beths signs to me, then.

'I know. I saw.'

She continues signing even as she turns to Herschel, a habit by now. 'That was loud.'

'Don't worry. Anything that heard it will be too slow to make their way over here.'

'I hope so.'

We sit without talking after that, watching the windows of the hospital light up with gunshots every now and then, as if it were a football game on TV. I count them, the flashes. The one I saw while Lori was coughing, that's one. That one there, that's two.

Rick used to talk about the day he woke up in the Grady Memorial Hospital sometimes. Right now, the only parts of the story I can remember are the ones where he'd hesitate to continue, staring at something in the fire the rest of us couldn't see, before he muttered about the way there wasn't one wall in the entire building that wasn't dirtied with blood, not even in the children's ward.

Hospitals just ain't what they used to be, is what I learned from him.

There's definitely more than just rat shit and dust in there.

I glance at Beth, asking her, 'Any noise?'

Her lips crumple into a thin line as she answers, 'Nothing.'

Just when I swear Herschel is about to bow his head and start praying, the front doors swing open.

Mouse perks up, his tail ramrod straight.

That's Dad, T-Dog, and Maggie walking out.

Where's Rick and Glenn?

The three of them are panting, dishevelled, but nobody hurt. Nobody bit. That's always the first thing I look for.

Thing is, though, they're all looking at me like I've won a shitty prize and I just don't know it yet.

What now?, I almost feel like saying, but don't.

The further in we walk, the darker it gets.

Does anybody really like the dark?

The flashlights carve out pockets in the walls and floors around us as we make our way down corridor after corridor. My heart skips a beat each time we pass the body of a patient or a nurse or a person in regular clothing, all with a bolt or a bullet buried somewhere inside them. We sidestep their limp arms in turn, their puddles of blood. I ain't ever been in a horror house before, but I imagine this is worse. I imagine it'd prolly feel a whole lot less like you're being walked to the gallows for execution, and that the blood would be fake.

If I had my locket, it would be clutched between my fingers right now, but the soft spot beneath my throat is completely bare. When I woke up this morning to my empty palm, I knew right away what'd happened. I didn't bother to ask what he did with it.

Passing another body with a bolt skewered through its face, my Dad reaches for it, pulling it out.

Clicking it back onto his bow, he notices me watching him.

'Keep going, baby.' He signs to me, black blood smeared down the side of his neck. 'Not far, now.'

T-Dog comes to a stop in the middle of the corridor a minute later, his flashlight revealing Glenn and Rick standing together just up ahead. Not hurt. Not bit. They look up from what they've been doing, which looks like taking turns kicking the wall.

T-Dog lowers the flashlight to their feet.

There it is.

The Harley-sized hole in the wall.

Now that I'm looking it, I can see what they meant. Nobody else is fitting through that thing, not even Carl.

Still no use, is the sentiment written all over Rick's face.

It looks like they've tried their best to widen the gap, but it's made out of solid brick and we're fresh outta jackhammers.

Will she fit? 

Yeah, I think so, Is the gist of what I can tell they're saying to each other.

We got this piece off here, but it the rest isn't budging. We don't have any bullets left to shoot it.

Maybe... we can do what I said before? Find another pharmacy?

Sure. When you find one within twenty miles of here, you let me know.

You're right. That was dumb. Sorry.

There are no other options. The medicine Lori needs is in that room, and it's like I said. She won't make it, otherwise.

'Listen. There are keys on the desk.' Dad explains to me, his stern expression contoured harshly by the flashlights surrounding us. He takes my wrist, guiding me to crouch with him at the base of the wall, pointing through the cracked bricks. I strain to make out the desk with the keys at the back of the room on the other side, before I meet his gaze again. 'Do you see them?'

'Yeah. I saw them.'

The desk ain't the only thing in there.

'We need you to grab them and unlock the door for us.'

We both know I also saw the walker standing idly in the corner, head bowed to the floor, waiting.

'We'll be able to kill it when the door is open.' He adds when I don't respond, as if he needed permission. 'I can't from here.'

'My heart is beating fast.'

He nods. 'That's a good thing. And this meathead is dumb. Are you dumb?'

I puff my chest out, shaking my head.

'That's right. You don't need to hear them when you're smarter than them. You're always smarter than them. Okay?'

'Okay.'

That's what he's told me ever since I went totally deaf. I don't need to hear them when I'm smarter than them. It's not as if we've had the opportunity to test the theory out, since there's so little walkers that I ain't had to kill one yet, but I trust him.

Twisting around, he gestures for Glenn's flashlight and catches it easily, giving it a few test clicks.

He hands it to me. 'Remember what I taught you?'

I give a nod, feeling the weight of Merle's knife sitting in the sheath on my thigh.

'Good. And be careful of the glass on the floor, okay?'

'Okay. I got this.'

I can do this. I gotta, for Lori and the baby. It'll make for a funny story one day, anyway. I can do it.

'You got this.' He agrees. 'It's gonna smell you, but you're not gonna panic. Easy stuff.'

'Easy stuff. Okay.'

'Okay?'

'Okay.'

With one last look at the group, I take a deep breath and grab onto one of the exposed bricks, contorting myself until my head and one of my arms is through the gap. I pause for a moment, trying not to breathe too much as I watch the walker follow invisible patterns along the floor with its eyes. Once its head is tilted away from me, I brace my hand on the floor, pushing myself through.

Oh, God. What was it I just said? I can do this?

The flashlight blinks on and off as I land on the other side, grabbing it, giving it a shake.

The desk is illuminated in a circle of light, centre stage.

The dead body twitches in the shadows. I slowly get to my feet, silently warning it to stay right where it is if it knows what's good for it. I'm smart. I can read and write now, and my Dad taught me how to stab the thigh first, so the walker will collapse and make it easier for me to reach whatever cavity I can stick my knife in. If this thing gets too close to me, it's gonna get the Dixon treatment.

Uh huh. That's right, I scold it, chin held up. The Dixon treatment. Ain't nobody want that!

The pieces of glass on the floor glint in the light as I tip toe my way through them, stepping up to the desk.

Dad said the keys are here. I saw them. They should be right here amongst these dusty papers — Ugh, God, don't sneeze. Don't. — or maybe even on this folder? What about the shelves above the desk? How could they just disappear?

When I turn the light on the walker, it's looking at me, eyeballs wet, reflecting the light.

It's smelt me.

That's okay. I'm okay. We knew it would.

It starts its slow shuffle towards me as I turn my attention back on the desk, casting about it twice as quickly now, batting the alarm clock, the pen pots, the stethoscope, everything out of my way and following all the pencils and random office supplies down to the floor. Kneeling, I look around, making sure the keys haven't gone down with them or fallen between the desk and the cabinets.

A glint of metal.

I gasp. They have!

I must've accidently knocked them off while I was choking back all that dust in my face.

I stick my hand into the slim gap, but — Ugh. — I can't get it any farther than my knuckles!

I'll have to make it wider.

Abandoning the flashlight, I grab the side of the desk, using all my strength to shove it even just one inch to the side.

Shit, it's heavy. They got bowling balls in here, or what?

The wheelie chair bumps into my ankle. I act on instinct, my hands shooting out, bracing against it. I look up. The walker's slouched over it, reaching for me. My elbows, they buckle. Shit. The seat slams into my shoulder — Ouch! — but you know what. This'll do. This works. I just need these stupid keys. I ignore the walker and its stench of old meat, focused on nothing but the keys.

I'm not gonna panic. It's what I used to do, but I've learnt since then. I'm better!

A couple shoves, and the gap is just wide enough, wide as it's ever gonna be.

Easy stuff. Easy stuff.

The seat suddenly gives way. The body rolls, cracking its cheekbone on the floor. Don't matter. I got the keys. I'm back on my feet and running to the door, feeling out a random key and shoving it in the lock, twisting it. It's the right one. The door opens.

Maggie pulls me out by the arm. It's if there's a fire blazing behind me and I'm about to go up in flames.

That's it. I'm out!

I fall into her stomach, protectively held there.

Thank whoever's still up there. Or maybe, just thank me.

Rick and Dad push past my shoulders, marching into the room and unsheathing their blades, powerfully driving them both into the walker's skull. Blood splatters as they yank them out, droplets landing across the glass cap of the flashlight on the floor. It tints the light and everything it's cast onto a bright red, flickering. Dad picks it up, wipes it on his thigh, and hands it back to Glenn.

Grinning proudly to myself, I hold up the keys up like a trophy head for everyone to see.

Maggie releases me, smiling breathlessly down at me in relief.

'Well done,' T-Dog exclaims with his hands, sharing a high five with me.

Kneeling in front of me, Dad cups my face in his hands. He don't give a damn about the keys. Are you okay?

'I'm okay. The keys were down the side of the desk. I couldn't reach them. I had to—,' Shoving at the air, I enthusiastically mime the struggle, making Maggie chuckle behind her hand. 'The walker was trying to get me through the chair.'

He smiles, wagging his thumbs across my cheeks before lowering his hands. 'I told you. Meatheads. But not you.'

'Not all the time, anyway.'

'You should've come back out when you couldn't find the keys.'

'Sorry.'

'It's alright. There won't be a next time. You did good.'

Then, taking the keys from me, he stands back up and returns to Rick's side in the dark room.

I stay right beside Maggie and Glenn as they make quick work of the storage room door, pushing it open. Their torches illuminate the shelves on either side of them, which to everyone's relief, are completely untouched, lined with all kinds of medicine. It wasn't all for nothing. Without bothering to read many of the labels, they swoop their arms through the masses of bottles, catching everything in their open backpacks and zippering them back up, before nodding to each other and stepping back outta the small room.

Let's go, Rick says as he shoos us forward. We're all eager to get the Hell outta this place.

Stepping through Thanton Memorial's broken glass doors, daylight breaks across my face.

The fresh, cold air floods into my dusty lungs.

When Carl spots me, it's like the bench burns his ass. He's calling my name as he comes running at me, crushing me in a hug that almost sends us both toppling over into the snow. A giggle is squeezed from me as I hug him back, feeling my bones creak under the pressure. Wow. For somebody who ain't eaten anything other than a bit of rabbit for the past two days, he sure is strong.

Pulling away, he holds both my shoulders as he worriedly exclaims something to me.

You're the coolest, bravest person ever, I'm gonna assume is what he's saying, I don't know how you did it!

He pulls me in for another, quicker hug.

When Herschel appears over his shoulder, I get the real story. 'He's telling you we were all very worried.'

Oh. Is that right?

Ow!, The boy scoffs as I land a punch to his shoulder, forcing him offa me.

'Tell him he's talking to Harley Dixon,' I say.

As the sentiment is passed on, Carl rolls his eyes at me, making a retort.

'He wants to remind you of the time he hugged you after you cried from a nightmare.'

Ow!, He complains again when I punch him.

As he rubs sorely at his shoulder, he can't help but giggle along with me.

'Come on,' Herschel interrupts us, herding the two of us back toward the group. 'Very well done, sweetie.'

'I was only a little scared.'

'Of course. This is Harley Dixon I'm speaking to, isn't it?'

Too right. 'Yes, it is!'

Stepping up to the crowd, we gather around the bench as Rick takes a seat next to his wife, uncapping the bottle of water in his lap. Her face looks awful pale-like, paler than the snow packed under our boots. Still, despite the effort it must take, she manages a smile. Her hands shake as she takes the water, watching Rick tap a small bottle of pills against her open palm until two tumble out. 

Being trapped in that room was one of the scariest things I've done. I can say that, now. But as she tips her head back and swallows the pills down with a gulp of water, I'm hit with the feeling that I would do it all over again if I had to.

She sighs, body swaying. We can only hope that it works.

As Rick soothes circles onto her lower back, his gaze accidently meets mine.

'Thank you', He signs, looking like he means every bit of it.

His blue eyes start to water just like they did last night, except there ain't no fire I can blame it on this time.

I only give him a single, shy nod, grabbing onto my Dad's hand. He don't need to thank me. I love Lori, too.

Then to everyone else, he says it again; Thank you.

Carl's hugging me again.

I don't bother punching him this time. I don't wanna do it, anyway.

Being back in Sharpsburg is different to what I thought it would be.

Aside from the old blood smeared across the roads, the way everything seems to have gone through a nightmare and fell back asleep shortly afterward, Sharpsburg is the one place we been that has not bothered to rot away quite yet. There ain't no bombing craters where parks or stores used to stand, no toppled police barricades, army trucks, no bruises from the week everything ended.

Petey's general store is still exactly where it always was, right next door to the news agency, the record store, the locksmith. I don't keep my head down like I planned to. I don't pretend I never knew this place, or the people in it, because I did. I hold my chin up to the light of the setting sun as we walk through the forgotten town, unafraid of the memories I can see behind each and every door.

You know this place. I did. I do. For a long while, it was pretty much the only thing I knew.

Each weekend, I would jump out of Dad's truck the second he pulled up on the handbrake, door slamming as I ran into my Mama's open arms. It would be late afternoon, sometimes twilight. There was no school the next day, no quizzes or beatings to worry about. Not on the good days, not when I was cruising down the sidewalk on my bike with a dollar note in my hand, on my way to Petey's. He would always insist on letting me pick an ice cream out for free, but it never worked. Have-it-her-way-Harley, he always called me, the nickname a hearty chuckle in his mouth. The wind was in my hair on the way home, because I had one back then, dollar note replaced with a fruity-flavored glob of ice cream frozen to a stick. Sugar melting onto my fingers, washed away in the play pool after dark.

I used to do things like that. We all did, I suppose.

As we pass by an empty parking lot, I notice the rainbow streamers of a lonely, fallen bike blowing around in the wind like a white flag. I wanna ride a bike again. Just for a minute. Maybe two, I think, as I hold my gaze on it for as long as I can.

Eventually, we make it to a park. Of course, I recognise this place as well, and so does my Dad.

That's why I can feel him staring at the back of my head.

I never stopped to think about how he knows Sharpsburg, too. He was right there with me on the porch of Petey's store, most the time, smoking cigarettes in the sun with melted ice cream drying out on his collarbones. He remembers it, too.

We used to come to this park all the time; me, Momma, and Dad, on the rare days they got along.

I got to pretend I was a different kid looking in on the three of us and thinking, What a nice family. I wish I was her.

Now, the monkey bars look more like the giant ribcage of an old beast rather than something I'd wanna play on.

A shrivelled walker, curled over the seat of one of the swings, lets the wind brush its fingers along the ground.

Everyone has a Before.

Even that walker.

Even if our Befores were all very different, at least our Afters are all the same. We're all here, sick, hungry, tired.

The park's trees and fences fall away after a while of more walking, making way for a suburban street.

Coming to a stop in the middle of the road, the ache in my feet worsens to a pang, pang, panging.

'Everything alright?' Glenn's asking me as a wave of tiredness suddenly washes over me.

'My feet hurt.' I answer. 'And don't say sorry.'

'I think we're going to stop soon. Don't worry.'

Rick considers the houses lined up in front of us, hands on his hips, as Dad walks up to us. 'What's wrong?'

'Her feet hurt. And are you tired?'

I could fall asleep right here in the snow. 'A little.'

Even when I was lost in the woods outside Herschel's farm, I still don't think I ever walked this much and for this long.

Giving me a regretful look, Dad offers, 'Do you need me to carry you?'

'I'm a big girl,' I tell him, yawning.

'I know. I asked you a question.'

They wait on my answer. I think about fighting it a minute longer, but I just don't have it in me. I'm reaching up for my Dad before I even realize it's what I'm doing, letting him lift me onto his chest as I wrap my arms and legs around him.

I could've definitely handled it. Yeah. It's just that, maybe it's okay if I don't for a while.

I can already feel my eyes drooping shut. I'm gonna fall asleep right here.

It's suddenly a lot easier to feel like just a girl, now.

My chin hooked over his shoulder, I watch through my heavy lids as Rick does a double take on something laying on the ground, turning to pick up what looks like a fallen street sign. The moonlight swells over the clouds, spilling onto the metal.

Brushing the frost off, he reveals the words, Bolton Drive.

Bolton Drive. To me, this was always just Dylan's street.

If we turn left here, there's some bigger houses down the way. I think it's prolly what my Dad's telling the group right now.

We're on the move again right after that, heading further into the suburbs. I'm saved from walking, instead snuggling into my Dad. It's almost impossible to shield my face from the oncoming winds as I peek out over his shoulder, the moon a silver ball in the sky behind us. I bet it's just about the only place left without any walkers, including the North Pole. If I were a bird, maybe I would forget all about Earth and just fly up there. I could look back down on it all like from a faraway window, watching as it slowly spins.

At a harsh gust of wind, I close my eyes, and the moon and all the stars vanish.

Sleep sweeps me up quickly. My mind floods with murky colors, then black, swirling like a shower drain.

When I open my eyes next, we're approaching a house I don't recognise.

'Shhhh,' Dad's soothing me, looking about as exhausted as I feel. 'It's alright. I'm putting you down.'

My feet slowly setting on the ground, Maggie takes my hand before I get the chance to feel the loss of Dad's warmth. We wait shivering at each other's side as the men clear out the house. Rick eventually sticks his head back out, waving us inside.

Climbing the porch, we huddle into the narrow corridor and spread out into the nearest room, the lounge room. Dad's already got a fire going for us as we make ourselves at home on the sofas, the hot breath of the flames quickly starting to melt the frost stuck to my coat. I hug myself, breathing deeply and slowly to try fight off the urge to fall right back asleep. As I notice Carl approaching, I scoot over to make room for him and his Momma, who settles her weight down on the sofa with the help of Maggie and Glenn.

I feel a little bad for being carried, even if I needed it. Lori made it all the way here on foot, deep into a sickness and carrying a baby inside of her. A lotta people might think a lady like her is weak, but they'd be wrong. There's many ways to be strong.

My Dad stands from where he was knelt by the fireplace, peeling off his beanie and sitting beside me.

As I look around the room, all I see are tired faces.

Mouse plops himself between my feet, the poor guy's fur ice-cold beneath my hands as I give him some pats.

We'll be warm soon, buddy, I think.

Everyone's attention is stolen when Rick steps up to the front of the room, fiddling with his beanie in his hands.

He gulps on nothing, nodding to himself. 

'I know we're all very tired,' Herschel translates for me as the words come, even though his arms must feel like they weigh a thousand pounds. 'Been tired for months. But let's just make the most of this and try to relax tonight. We've got a fire. We've got walls. Medicine. It's a Hell of a lot better than those garages back in Newnan. T and I will melt some snow for us to drink, and we got some food we just found in the kitchen. We'll take turns for watch through the night, but there's not much out there. You saw.'

Carol hesitates to raise her hand, shaking her head as she asks a question.

We turn back to Rick. 'I don't know. I don't like staying in one place long, but I'm thinking there's only a few more weeks left until Spring. It's not impossible to think we can tough it out here. There's not many other options right now.'

It looks like we're staying in Sharpsburg for a few more weeks, then. At least until the cold dies down.

There are worse places to end up.

'Try to warm up in the meantime.'

Leaving us to stew in thought, Rick and T-Dog pull their coats on tighter and disappear through the archway.

'You know something?' Beth asks after a minute or two, the only light in the room coming from the fire. It lends her face a pretty, dim glow as she glances at her Dad sitting next to her.  'Daddy thinks it's gonna be Christmas tomorrow.'

Oh, that's right. I'd almost forgotten.

Glenn sends him a, No shit?, sort of look.

'I just figured it would be about that time.' He explains, making Maggie light up. 'I have a sixth sense for it.'

My Dad scoffs, shrugging. 'Well, I don't have a calendar. Why not.'

Wait? Really?

'So, it's Christmas tomorrow?', I ask him, as if we ain't just making all this shit up.

Something so simple, the prospect of waking up on Christmas morning tomorrow even if it ain't in no official way, even if we ain't even got a tree, let alone a star to put on top of it, sparks excitement throughout the room. Yes, it's Christmas tomorrow. From the smiles breaking out on everyone's faces, Maggie giddily gripping onto Glenn to give him a shake, I can tell it's Christmas tomorrow.

Feeling just a little bit more awake than I did a moment ago, I exclaim again, 'It's Christmas tomorrow!'

My Dad seems to find this very amusing, smirking side-long at me.

There ain't much to say in the way of how our Christmases used to go, especially the ones after my second birthday, but I still remember seeing the church all lit up with decorations at night whenever we happened to drive past it. I always liked that.

Carl must exclaim the same thing I did with almost twice the energy, because Lori and Rick laugh.

'I can't believe,' Maggie gushes, 'I forgot about Christmas!'

'It's not your fault,' Glenn jokes, petting her shoulder. 'We've been busy trying not to die.'

'Good point.'

'I'm sure the Lord will forgive you,' Beth says.

'Yeah. He started all this shit, anyway.'

Maggie waves her hand around. 'Hey. A little respect for the Atheists in the room?'

When everyone turns to look at me and Dad, a round of laughter breaks out.

'We're only in it for the presents,' He agrees.

I nod. It's true.

'Me, too,' Glenn says.

'I just wish I we had some,' Beth pouts.

'We're alive,' Herschel argues, looking around at each person in the room. 'There's no present better than that.'

Aww. That cheesy line earns him a funny look from Maggie, who pulls him into a deathly-tight hug.

'I think there actually might be something better.'

Glenn sticks a finger up, standing and disappearing into the kitchen.

When he returns, he's cradling a bunch of shiny wrappers in his arms, dumping them all onto the coffee table. Snack packs. Crackers and cheese, salami and cookies, bread sticks, peanut butter. Those really are snack packs! What a lucky find!

Nobody hesitates. We all grab one, ripping the seals off and huffing the tasty smell that comes out.

'You just found these in there?,' Asks Beth.

'Yeah,' He answers, flopping back onto the sofa. 'They were in the pantry. There's cans, too.'

'I'm in love with whoever lived here.'

Mouse is staring at me as I pick up a piece of salami, so I toss it into his mouth.

I save the next one for myself, groaning at the nostalgic taste of school lunches.

'Better?' Glenn signs to me like a smartass, knowing damn well this is the best thing I ever tasted.

I stick my food-covered tongue out at him.

Blehhh!

Unexpectedly, he does the same thing back. Eugh. Gross!

When Carl notices what we're doing, he sticks his tongue out, too. Even grosser!

'Come on. Enough,' Dad tries to warn me, buts he regrets it a second later when a wet glob of salami lands in his lap.

This is what Rick and T-Dog walk in on as they come through the archway, holding cookware filled with chunks of snow and ice in front of them. My Dad's smacking the salami onto the floor as if it were fresh dog shit, Carl and I trying not to choke on our food, laughing at him. Mouse spinning in circles like a lunatic, spurred on by the chaos, making Carol laugh like she means it. Not that puny, polite little chuckle she does sometimes; a full belly laugh, holding onto Maggie for support. They was only gone a few minutes.

Rick smirks as he shakes his head, deadpanning something to the effect of, I see you found the food.

They set the cookware in front of the fire and join us on the sofas. 

'Why's everyone so happy?', Rick asks as he sits on the ottoman, confused, delighted, because there has to be a reason.

'It's Christmas tomorrow,' I gladly tell him.

'Oh, really?'

T-Dog asks the others, 'Wait, what? How do you know?'

'We don't.' Herschel admits, throwing Mouse a cube of cheese. 'But we deserve a Christmas, don't we?'

Yeah, I see the word slip from Rick's mouth.

'We deserve some eggnog, too,' T-Dog adds, making himself laugh just like he always does.

'Tell me about it.'

'Cover your ears, kids,' Carol tells us, even though she's laughing, too.

I hear that right? As the deaf one outta the two of us, I jokingly gesture to my ears. I can't hear shit, anyway!

As everyone laughs all over again, my Dad reaches out to try and cover my eyes, but I bat him offa me. Nice try.

'You got the card, now, kid.' T-Dog tells me, like it's some secret club I've joined.

'I got the what?'

'The card. I got mine, too. 'Oh, yeah? Is it because I'm black'?'

Carol smacks him. 'Whatever.'

'Next time your Dad gives you in trouble, you can pull the, 'Oh, yeah? Is it because I'm deaf?'

That's silly!

'Don't give her ideas.'

'Too late,' I grin devilishly. 'I got the card, now, Dad.'

He rolls his eyes, trying his best not to laugh, too.

'You can't do that, Harley.' T-Dog mimes. 'Oh, yeah? Is it because I'm deaf?'

'What did I just say?'

Sorry, man, T-Dog chuckles, biting on a tiny bread stick.

What's eggnog, Carl asks his parents curiously, reminding us why we're talking about 'cards' in the first place.

Eggnog is a milky-lookin' drink that got booze in it, which is why Rick and Lori brush off the question. I tried it once, during a party at my Meemaw's, after one of my Uncles shrugged and said, Fuck it. Tasted like garbage sprinkled with cinnamon.

'Let's just stick with what we have,' Herschel suggests. 'There must be some other traditions we can do?'

'Our family used to share a favorite moment from that year,' Beth says. 'Maybe we can do that?'

'That's a great idea, Beth.'

'I got one.' Glenn raises his hand. 'Finding that car in Atlanta.'

'Oh, that was good.'

'Sad we had to leave it.' He agrees. 'I also liked the time I fell into a dumpster after we left the CDC.'

'What?,' Maggie scrunches her nose at him.

'Looking back at it, it was pretty funny.'

God dang, I remember that day. I was sitting off to the side with Sophia, watching the scene unfold together.

'Morales had to grab your ass to pull you out,' I tease him.

Rick tries to hide the fact that he's chuckling, as Maggie asks him what he was doing in a dumpster.

'We'd lost everything. We were searching for supplies, but I saw some yellow boots and I wanted them for Harley.'

Everyone croons, Awwww.

'I remember those boots, actually.' Beths recalls. 'What happened to them?'

'I fed them to the cows,' I shrug, so I don't gotta bring up the farm, where I left them in our tent the night it all burned down.

'Hey. I risked my life for those boots.'

Rick corrects him, 'I think you risked your ass, is what she just said.'

'It's what I said.'

'I got one.' My Dad says, dipping a cracker in some peanut butter. 'The day we put Glenn in the well.'

'Remember how he squealed?,' T-Dog giggles.

'No,' Glenn tries to convince us, doing a very bad job of it. 'I don't remember that. Never happened.'

'That walker was next-level gross.'

Next in the line to share, I decide, 'My favorite moment is when I found Mouse.'

'He loves you, doesn't he?,' Maggie smiles.

I throw him another piece of salami, hoping that the answer would be yes.

Carl tells everyone his favorite moment from this year was sneaking off into the woods with me, but his parents both give him a look, so he wisens up and changes his answer to something a little less totally forbidden; going to shooting practice.

When it's Lori's turn, she mentions a time she pushed Carl on the Greene's swing.

Rick's favorite moment is beating Herschel at checkers, something that the old man lets him get away with sharing.

'Gotta be seeing Daryl wake up after surgery,' T-Dog says after that, startling me with how suddenly sentimental it is.

The firelight flickers back and forth on the rug for a few moments.

My Dad subtly replies, Thanks, man.

'I was gonna say that, too,' I say to be funny.

'Yeah,' Glenn backs me up. 'You totally were. In fact, I change my answer, too. Favorite moment; Meeting Maggie.'

The woman pouts up at him, grabbing his hand, threading their fingers together.

'I change mine, too.' Dad says. 'The moment I found out Harley wasn't bitten.'

'That's mine, too.'

'Me, too,' Just about half the group nod, agreeing.

Then, everyone's coming up with different answers, talking over the top of each other. Bringing Harley back safe from the gas station, is T's second answer, but he also has a third and fourth and a fifth, because he just can't pick one. Making it outta the CDC alive. Finding the farm. Saving Glenn after he gave blood. Herschel's favorite moment is all the moments he's kept his daughters safe, an answer that earns him a big hug from both Maggie and Beth this time, because, I don't know what I'd do without my girls.

Rick and Glenn finding Daddy safe, Beth says, and then Maggie; That's mine, too.

I find myself with a hundred new answers, too. The moment Jacqui and I kicked up all them butterflies outta the grass as we ran to the house, after she told me my Daddy was alive. The morning Maggie made us scrambled eggs and tea for breakfast. All them times I shared a peach with someone while we sat in the sun. Lori making that joke about Maggie and Glenn being in love, and how I gagged at it back then. I can't forget about the time Carl hugged me as I cried, as Dad cut my hair, as I petted a cow's nose or fed a chicken.

All the little things and the big things, but also all the sad things. In a way, I'm grateful for them, too.

If Jacqui was here, or Sophia, or Momma or Meemaw, or my cousins, who could be anywhere by now, dead or alive, or Morales or Eliza or Louis or Miranda, who I ain't sure if I'll ever see again, or even our dog Tank, I like to think they'd be grateful for me, too.

'I told you, didn't I?,' Herschel smiles. 'No better present.'

After that — After Glenn starts to tear up and we all tease him for it — We decide to wrap it up for the night.

'I love you guys,' He blubbers, like we didn't already know, like we haven't almost died for each other a hundred times over.

Okay, buddy, Dad's saying, reaching to pat his shoulder.

'I think it's time to turn in.'

Beth covers her mouth as she yawns. 'Yeah. I'm so tired.'

'Tell me if anybody sees Santa Claus,' T-Dog says non-committedly.

'I'm going to grab the blankets and pillows from upstairs.' Rick announces, standing up. 'Who's on first watch? Me?'

I'll do it, My Dad offers, letting Maggie comfort Glenn, but he's turned down.

He was frostbitten from head to toe only yesterday. I wouldn't let him out there, neither.

I can do it, T-Dog decides, and that's that. 'Maybe it'll be me that sees him.'

No fair, Carl whines.

Rick leaves and brings back down a whole bunch of bedding that he plops on the floor, giving everyone free reign to pick out what they want as T makes himself scarce. I pull out a small pillow and what must be a toddler's blanket, letting Dad help me get settled on the sofa. I lay with my head against one arm rest, Carl resting his against the other. Both our Dads tuck us in.

'Goodnight,' He signs to me, knelt just beside the sofa. 'You still hungry or thirsty?'

I shake my head, yawning. 'Just sleepy.'

'You were very brave today.' He tells me, earnest eyes boring into mine. 'Not many kids would do what you did.'

'I just wanted to help Lori and the baby.'

'I know. They got a better chance, now.'

'Does that mean I get to name the baby?'

He smirks a little bit. 'We'll see.'

I glimpse Beth muttering to Hershel over Dad's shoulder, sharing a big blanket. I sign, 'Would Momma be proud, too?'

His face falls. The words hit him right in the heart, a poisonous bolt. All he says is, 'Yes.'

'Good,' I manage to reply, right before my eyes start to droop closed.

'Goodnight,' He signs again.

Placing a kiss to my cheek, my Dad pulls back and lays his own blanket down on the floor in front of me, laying facing the fire.

Rick was right. This is a Hell of a lot better than those garages back in Newnan.

I would like to help T-Dog spot Santa, I really would, but I just can't stay awake even one moment longer.

I'm being shaken gently.

Groaning, I open my eyes. Dad's face is inches from mine, all the windows behind him filled with grey daylight.

Adjusting the crossbow on his shoulder, he signs, 'Good morning.'

'Good morning.'

Sitting up, I groggily take in the sight of the group still laid out across the room, fast asleep. All except for Dad, and also Rick and Carl. I see them standing in the archway, both dressed for the snow just like Dad is, whispering to each other.

'Get your coat,' Dad says, and before I get the chance to ask what's going on; 'We're going searching for presents.'

We're what?!

After waking Glenn and putting him on watch, the four of us set out into the neighbourhood. The sun slowly rises from behind the falling snow, eclipsing the roofs of the houses around us and washing the morning in a soft, pink and yellow hue. It's quiet, peaceful, just how it always is before the day fully starts. Carl, Mouse, and I are rowdily running down the sidewalk, disturbing it all.

It's Christmas. According to us, it's Christmas, and ain't nobody here to tell us otherwise!

Dad and Rick follow after us until we make it to the park, the two oldies totally left in our dust as we make a beeline for the playground and pounce on the metal merry-go-round. It's been so long since I went on one of these. It feels like we're breaking a rule, a rule that nobody said aloud, but we ain't. Our Dads told us loud and clear that today, we're allowed to do whatever we want.

I'll spin us, Carl's laughing as he pushes on one of the handles, Mouse wisely standing back.

I still remember to hold on tight. Here we go!

Once he's picked up enough speed, he makes a jump for the platform. He skids around like a drunk, landing on his ass. He hugs the closest handle. The world spins into a multi-coloured smear. I just can't stop laughing, not even if I tried.

As the ride slows down, it feels like I'm 'bouta hurl up all that salami I ate last night.

Again!, I shout.

The next time we come to a stop, we round on the sight of Dad and Rick standing off to the side, watching us.

'Wanna get pushed?,' My Dad asks us, nodding to the swings.

I jump off the platform. 'Yes!'

Rick effortlessly peels the dead walker I saw yesterday offa the seat, throwing it aside and helping me on. I'on know how long we swing for, but the warm, pink sun spills and spills between the trees until it's on my face, making me forget the cold.

Spring is right around the corner, now.

This whole nightmare is almost over. I can just tell.

One of these days, the sun will crest the horizon and the snow just won't come.

It doesn't take long for us to make it back to town square.

'Where should we start?', Rick asks.

'I want to look in Petey's,' I answer right away, pointing to the storefront. 'But Carl can't come.'

Obviously, it's because I'm gonna be picking something out for him, which is why he starts giggling when Dad translates.

Rick ruffles the boy's hair, nudging him in the opposite direction. 'It's a plan. We'll search over here.'

'There's a toy store that way,' Dad adds helpfully.

'We'll check it out. Good luck.'

'Good luck. Watch out for elves.'

He laughs a bit as I whistle for Mouse, who runs after us. 'We will.'

Passing barrels of wrinkled flowers, Dad sticks his fingers between the automatic glass doors and forces them open, pulling his crossbow down as they roll apart on the tracks. Out of the darkness, a human-shaped shadow stumbles toward us.

It drops to the floor before it can even open its mouth.

Lowering his crossbow, Dad nods me forward, tugging his bolt outta the walker's wet face.

Look around, He says, wiping the blood off on his thigh.

The first thing I check is the comic section, of course. I'm hoping they got the series Carl likes, the one with the kick-ass astronauts and the evil aliens on the cover that I can't remember the name of. Captain Noel and the Astronauts, or something like that. I read it just the other week while he was dozed off, just to see what all the fuss was about. Weren't hard to see why he likes it.

As I step over a fallen sale sign, Mouse sniffs around the shelves, skulking around the corner.

Approaching the display stand, I skip right over the magazines and check out the comics, flicking through the covers. There's pictures of supervillain scientists, monsters, ninjas in impossible poses, wielding metal stars. They's all dumb-looking, so I'm sure Carl would eat them up like hot cakes for breakfast, but I really want the alien one. He been after the next volume since we met him.

There's a tap on my shoulder.

Hm?

Glancing up at Dad, I watch as he pulls a comic down from the highest rack, holding it out for me to see.

Captain Nate and the Awesome Eight, The quirky logo reads. 

Grabbing it up like it might disappear before my eyes, I feel the pages crinkle under my fingers. This is the one!

Volume Four, It says at the bottom. The final mission.

I hold up three fingers to Dad.

Understanding, he flips through the comics again before handing me the third volume.

I take it, hugging them both to my chest before signing, 'These are for Carl. He loves them.'

'Really? I thought they were for Beth.'

Pssh. He ain't funny. 'Let's keep looking. We need something for her, too!'

He puts the comics in my backpack for me, following me around the store to continue our hunt for the perfect presents.

For Beth, I find a couple bottles of nail polish in the tiny makeup display, throwing in a black tube-thing that reads, Mascara, along with them for Lori, or maybe for Maggie. I ain't sure. I ask Dad what he thinks, but he got even less of a clue than I do.

I decide to throw in a second tube and some eyeshadow thingies just to be safe.

For Rick and Herschel, we decide on a pair of woolly socks for each of them. You just can't go wrong with socks.

When we find some shirts with silly phrases on them, I know instantly that they would be perfect for Glenn and T-Dog.

Lastly, Dad makes us grab a bunch of random things that we need, like canned food and lighters, before we turn into the pet aisle. Mouse is there, nosing a package of tennis balls along the floor. He looks confused when they roll under the shelves. I crouch down, pulling them back out. It looks like he found his own present. He watches me stash them in my bag, pink tongue lolling happily. 

On our way out, I pass by the rack again, stealing a girly magazine off it that I think Carol will like.

Carl and Rick meet us back on the street, both their backpacks suspiciously fatter than they were the last time we saw them.

'How'd it go?'

Good, Rick says, as Carl tries to get a peek inside my bag. 'Want to swap?'

Before the boy gets to close, I fend him off, giggling as he wrestles me.

'Sure.' Dad pulls him offa me. 'Hard to get a present for your kid when they're right beside you.'

'Exactly.' Rick chuckles, offering his hand to me.

I take it, blowing a raspberry at Carl's back as he walks off with my Dad in the opposite direction.

The store Rick and I check out is the record store, Jameson's Jams, just across the way. After he scopes the place out, coming up empty, it's safe for us to go in. The smell of dust and plastic swarms us I look around at the tubs of record sleeves and CDs.

'It used to be tidy in here,' I sign to him, even though he could prolly guess that.

The doors close behind him, shutting the snow out.

' Did you go here often?'

'All the time.' I meander up to the nearest bin. 'My parents loved music.'

As I pick up an edgily-decorated sleeve that catches my eye, Rick steps up to my side.

'Something tells me their music taste clashed,' He jokes. 'Am I right?'

No. 'They both had bad taste.'

Scoffing, I throw the sleeve back, walking around to the other side of the tubs.

Chuckling to himself, he glances down at the record I'd been holding. It fits my Dad to damn T. I don't take it with me, though, because we ain't got no way to play it. It'd just be a waste of space, so I crack open a CD instead, taking out the paper.

Tossing the useless part back in the bin, I look up to see Rick already looking at me.

He's frowning, his brown hair poking out from underneath his beanie, curled over his faint wrinkles.

'What?,' I gesture impatiently.

What's he want?

I hate to admit it, but there's a little stain of bitterness left inside me after what he did to my Momma's photo.

It weren't like it was on purpose, but it didn't have to be.

'I'm sorry,' He signs, the tubs separating us by at least ten feet feeling more like a hundred.

'It's okay,' I brush it off. 'I'm not mad at you.'

'I know. Trust me, I can tell when you're mad at me,' He smiles for a fleeting moment. 'I'm apologising, anyway.'

'That was the only photo I had of her, you know.'

'I know.'

'Her name was Lindsey.'

'I know. Your Dad talks to me about her, sometimes.'

'Why did you throw it?'

He pauses, picking at a sticker on the wood before fessing up, 'Shane makes me angry, honey. I was angry. I threw it.'

'Angry? Not sad?'

'No. Not sad.' He shakes his head. 'We were all past that when we saw the truck leaving the farm.'

'He gave me the locket. My Dad threw it away the night you burned the photo.'

'Yes, I know. He talked to me about that, too.'

'He did?'

'He was going to let you keep it.'

'Why didn't he?'

'You know why.'

Yeah. I do. I don't even know why I asked that. He threw it away for the same reason I'm not allowed to talk about Ronnie.

Rick changes the subject, the tension in his shoulders melting away as he signs, 'Thank you. Again.'

'For the hospital?'

He nods. 'You were brave.'

'Dad said the same thing.'

'It's true. Even I would have been scared, and I'm thirty-four years old.'

'You're never scared.'

'I'm scared all the time.' I'm pretty sure he didn't mean to say that. I wait until he says something else. 'Thank you.'

Hell. He shouldn't make me laugh like that. I'mma breathe in all this dust. 'You're worse than Glenn.'

'What do you mean?'

'You can't stop saying 'Thank you'. He can't stop saying 'Sorry'. Feet hurt. Sorry. My ears ring. Sorry. It's funny.'

'He's sensitive,' Rick agrees fondly.

'I know. He cried last night.'

A muted chuckle. 'That's right. He did.'

As I look off to the side, something on the wall catches my eye.

Guitars. A lot of them.

Abandoning the piece of paper, I run over to them, stepping onto a chair and pulling down an electric guitar.

Rick is eye-level with me when he comes over. 'Your Dad said he knows how to play.'

Nodding, I give the strings a dramatic thrum.

It must be painful, going by the way Rick looks like he's just heard nails going down a chalkboard.

I can't help but laugh, turning to hook it back up. Like the record and the CD, it would just be a waste of space. Electric guitars don't sound so good if you don't got anything to plug them into. Acoustic ones, however, they're perfect anywhere.

Hopping onto to the next chair over, I pull down a classically wooden guitar, cold to the touch. 

When I strum this one, Rick gives a thumbs up. It'll need tuning, but that's a piece of cake.

Jumping down, I have a thought.

'How the Hell do we hide this from him?'

He looks the thing up and down. 'We might have to give it to him now.'

Aw. 'That's not as fun.'

'How about this — You hide behind me. When we see him, you jump out. Is that fun?'

Hmmm. 'Okay. Let's do that!'

Carl's a lot harder to appease than I am, which must be the reason Rick lets out a little sigh of relief. 'Great.'

'It needs a shoulder strap,' I decide, grabbing one from the rack nearby and ripping it outta the plastic. I try to figure it out, turning it over to get a good look, but then I just pass it off to Rick's mittened hands. 'You know how to put it on?'

'Let me try.' He accepts the challenge, kneeling in front of the guitar.

Buttoning each end of the leather strap to the metal attachments, it looks like he's got it.

He hands it back, raising his brows at me. 'Remember to jump out. We have to get him to crap his pants.'

'It's a plan.'

Before we meet back up, we stop by the thrift store next door so that Rick can grab the shirt he'd had in mind for Carl, a simple thing with a superhero he likes on the chest. As we leave through the front doors, Rick herds me in behind his back.

We're only waiting in town square for a minute or two before he signals me that they're coming over.

When I feel the time is right, I jump out!

Rahh!

Dad don't quite crap his pants, but his eyes do widen ever so slightly. In Dixon terms, he's chilled to the bone.

My back-up man watches on, laughing.

I hold out the guitar once the moment's passed, hoping it's obvious that this is his Christmas present.

Woah, breathes Carl as my Dad takes it carefully, Mouse's tail batting around wildly at his ankle.

We watch as he drags his thumb down the strings, remembering what it feels like. Slowly, he starts to smile.

Looking up at me, he seems very, very pleased. 'Thank you. I love it.'

'Merry Christmas!'

'We knew we couldn't hide it from you,' Rick explains, 'So we scared you instead.'

'Did it work?'

Dad nods, frowning as he mouths the word, Terrifying, before kneeling to wrap me in a hug. I kiss his cheek.

'Did you get everything you wanted?'

Nodding again, Dad stands and passes the guitar to Rick, seeing as he's already wearing his crossbow.

Pulling it on, Rick nods in the direction we came from. 'Let's head back, then.'

We make it only five feet before we notice Carl isn't following us.

Looking back at him, he points at the parking lot across the street.

We follow his finger.

Across the street, the lonely bike with the streamers still lays there in the snow, next to a couple other bikes.

We glance between each other, a glint of something cheeky in our eyes.

We're all thinking the same thing, ain't we?

It's a long walk, anyways.

Who the Hell bikes in the snow, is what a sensible person would ask themselves as they saw us race past their house.

We do!, is what I'd shout back at them.

We're zooming down the streets of Sharpsburg like we're late for a wedding, the most ridiculous sight the apocalypse ever did see. Rick, taking the lead just like always, with a guitar bumping around on his back as he pumps the peddles of a pink bike. Carl on the little one, its rainbow streamers blowing out on either side of him without a care in the world. Mouse, sprinting to keep up.

He's going so fast; I think his ears might just fly off and smack me in the face!

It's a challenge to not fall off the handlebars of Dad's bike just from laughing so hard.

I clutch onto it harder as we crest over the top of a hill. Rick goes flying down first, then Carl. Dad wraps an arm around my stomach, hugging me to his chest as we both laugh against each other. We're next. My stomach lurches. My toes go numb. Then we're free-falling, and the tyres are shaking beneath us and the handlebars are jiggling all over the place, the wind racing past us.

Sucking in a deep breath, I let out a shriek of, Wuh-Hooooooo!

My heart's beating outta my chest like when a walker's got me in its grasp, when I feel most alive.

Whatever day I've said is the best day of my life — This is it, now. Hands down.

Rick reaches the bottom first, doing a fancy little skid in the snow and glancing over his shoulder at us to see our reaction.

Carl gives him a thumbs down, making him laugh as he turns back around.

The hill flattens out into more suburbia.

We slow down to a more leisurely pace for the rest of the ride back, and simply enjoy the morning together, trailing the sidewalks like a bunch of kids. The sun is well into the sky now, shining through the frigid air without any clouds to cover it up.

When I spot the house in the distance, I'm almost sad.

As we pull into the driveway, bumping over the curb, Glenn stands from his seat on the porch steps.

Hey, guys, He's laughing, perplexed.

Rick answers him with a few flicks of his bell, braking to a stop.

Where'd you go?, He asks, as I jump down from the handlebars.

Carl dumps his bike on the ground and holds up his backpack, shouting, Presents!

He gawks. No shit?

No shit!, He exclaims, running straight past him and up the porch.

I catch Rick sharing a funny look with my Dad, but he lets the swear word go. It's that type of day.

The adrenaline-high don't leave my body even as I follow everyone inside the house, stepping into the busy lounge room. We're greeted by the rest of our group, who are more than awake by now, hugging us as we come through the archway. They're completely beaming. It's obvious. They've heard the great news — We went out in the early morning to do Santa's bidding, for no other reason than because we managed to live long enough to, and because we deserve it. For once, we can ignore everything else and it'll all be okay.

Shrugging off my backpack, I set it down on the coffee table. Carol and Herschel tidy away the empty snack packs as Dad, Rick, and Carl set theirs down, too. Everybody's eyeing the bags excitedly, tryna see if they can make out the goodies inside.

'You guys are sneaky,' T grins, wide enough to show off the gap between his two front teeth. 'Sneaky!'

'Where did you go?!,' Maggie wants to know.

She lounges back on the sofa, Mouse jumping into her lap.

'Town square.' Rick's looking livelier than he has all Winter; all year, maybe. 'We left while you were all asleep.'

T seems to have an epiphany. 'It's you guys!'

'What?,' He asks.

'You're Santa!'

Realizing the man is pulling our legs, Rick rolls his eyes.

Carl goes on to ramble all about our adventures. By the way he's miming it all out, I can tell he ain't leaving out our visit to the playground. Everyone's watching him with nothing but joy in their eyes, adding comments here and there, laughing.

When Beth notices the guitar, my Dad proudly shows it off to the room.

'Harley found it,' He signs, reigning everyone back in, reminding them to use signs. 'Pretty, ain't it?'

Herschel turns to look at me. 'What a wonderful, wonderful gift.'

'I got more,' I tease, giving my backpack a tempting wiggle. I can't wait to give out the rest of the presents!

'Let's just get right into it then, right?,' Rick suggests. 'Go crazy.'

That's all the permission anyone needs.

As the three of them open their backpacks and start handing out presents left and right, I get to opening mine.

The first things I pull out are the stupid shirts for Glenn and T-Dog, walking over to them and putting them in their hands. Maggie's laughing her ass off as they hold them up to their chests, cluelessly peering down at the text. I step back to admire my work. Sorry I'm late, T's shirt reads, and Hell, it's even funnier than I imaged it would be, I was doing my hair! I think he's laughing something like, You little punk, before he glances over at Glenn's to see the damage. I'm with stupid, His says, except the arrow is pointing at his face.

Aw Hell naw!, T-Dog unabashedly laughs.

'Put them on!,' I demand, taking the fabric in my hands. Glenn helps me out, pulling it over what he's already wearing and straightening it out so the message is on full display. T-Dog does the same thing, even if he does call me a punk again.

'How do we look?,' Glenn asks me and Maggie when they're done, giving a stiff twirl.

'Don't answer that,' T-Dog says.

I give Maggie her gift next, the Mascara. She plants a kiss on my cheek and pulls me in for a tight hug, releasing me so I can head over to the other ladies. Carol gratefully takes the magazine, Lori and Beth Oohing and Aahing over the makeup.

It's no 'Electric Spring Citrus', but Beth still seems very touched by the bottle of yellow polish.

Next, I pull out the tennis balls. Boy, does that get Mouse's attention. I rip off the seal, sending them all bouncing across the living room floor, almost tripping some people over. Mouse darts after this one and that one, chasing them all over the place as I hand the socks to Herschel and Rick. They're both delighted, taking turns giving me a hug. We was right. Ya can't go wrong with socks.

'Carl and your Dad have something for you,' Rick tells me as he pulls away, pointing over to them.

I tap Carl on the shoulder, and when the two of them turn around and realize me, his face lights up.

Harley!, He's exclaiming.

He digs through his bag and holds out my two presents. 

'Thank you!,' I sign, taking them. Oh, wow. A diary and a packet of colored pencils. I don't gotta squeeze my thoughts into the margins, no more. I got fresh, blank pages, enough to prolly last me a whole year. Giving Carl a hug, I hold up a finger; Wait.

Reaching into my backpack and feeling out the comics, I pause just to be dramatic, before I pull them out for him to see. His jaw drops as he snatches them up. All them months hearing him complain, and watching him read the same volume over and over, makes it all the more satisfying to see him flick through the pages, realizing with mounting horror that it's everything he dreamt of.

Thank you, He's shouting, Thank you!

'Wanna see what I got you?,' Dad says next. 'You can both play with it, but it's for you, okay?'

'Okay! Show me!'

Carl and I crouch down with him as he unzippers his backpack. What he pulls out is not like anything I would've expected.

A big, flat white box with a photo on the front of some kids kicking a soccer ball into a little pop-up goal in the sun.

'Can't play soccer without a goal.' He smirks as I take the box in my hands, ready to tear it open with my teeth if I gotta.

They both help me pick the tape off the cardboard, pulling it open and turning the whole thing upside down. The goal slides out. Having finally been broken out of the confines of its box, it immediately springs into shape, almost smacking us all in the face.

Dodging it with a laugh, I exclaim, 'Thank you, Dad!' 

'Do you like it?,' He asks.

'I love it! How do we set it up?'

Looking about, he finds a small baggie of metal stakes that fell out with it, and a page of instructions.

I lean in closer to take a peek as he skims over them, but it all looks simple enough.

'Easy,' He decides. 'We can set it up in the front yard, yeah?'

'Yeah. I'm gonna smoke you both so bad.'

Dad thwacks my arm with the piece of paper. 'Hey. Who said I'm playing?'

'Oh. So, you're scared.' I nod empathetically, feeling smug. 'That's okay. I'm rusty, too.'

'Seriously?'

'I only won three medals when I was in school.'

'I'm old, kid. I'm in my thirties. I'm pretty much dead.'

'Loud and clear. You're scared of losing.'

He rolls his eyes. 'You're a brat. Don't cry when you lose.'

'I've never cried in my life, Dad. Ask Carl.'

As soon as he passes on the question, Carl levels me with the most, Get serious, expression I ever seen in my life.

Whatever. 'I'll still win!'

'We'll see,' He says as I glance at the rest of the group.

'This was so thoughtful of you guys,' Maggie signs from her seat on the sofa, doing that little pout she does.

With all the presents handed out, I take my time looking around the room. T and Glenn are still wearing their t-shirts, of course. If I could have it my way, they wouldn't ever wear anything else. It looks like Rick and Carl gifted Glenn a magazine about race cars, and T-Dog a flashy, gold chain necklace that he manages to make look cool. Lori and Herschel are wearing new matching jackets, the material purple and puffy. They look like father and daughter, sitting there like that, Lori's head resting on the old man's shoulder. Beside them, Carol's blowing air onto Beth's painted nails, while Mouse lays on the floor, gnawing at the tennis ball he must've decided is his favorite.

And Rick. He's not pouring over a map. He's not frowning to himself as he cleans a gun. He's not snapping at one of us to, Stop that, We need to stay focused. He's just smiling faintly next to Glenn, refusing to reveal to anyone this was all his idea.

'I'm just glad there's no wrapping paper to clean up this year,' He chuckles, looking at Lori.

The woman smirks, shaking her head. Bad memories, I guess.

'Every year,' He continues, gesturing to an invisible pile in his lap, 'We would end up with this much.'

'You're not the only ones.' T-Dog scoffs, like this is a lifelong issue he's faced.

'Oh, yeah. You were a garbage man, weren't you?,' Glenn remembers.

'Minimum wage, brother,' He agrees, bringing the pizza-boy in for a bro-hug.

'What have you got there, Harley?,' Maggie asks as they pull apart.

'A soccer goal,' I excitedly answer, before holding up Rick and Carl's presents. 'And a diary and pencils!'

'I don't want you to think it's for schoolwork with Lori,' Rick says. 'Carl just told me he's seen you journalling.'

'I love it,' I shake my head. 'Thank you.'

That bitterness that I'd been feeling toward him, it disappears just as quickly as it came.

'You haven't been writing anything bad about me, have you?,' Glenn asks threateningly.

'Just a little bit,' I shrug.

'She's a brat, isn't she?,' My Dad jokes.

'She's a total brat.'

'Hey! I don't like you, either.'

'Well, Merry Christmas, everyone.' Maggie says to wrap things up. 'Time to take this outside. We got a game to play.'

'Sounds like it,' Rick agrees.

'Come on.' Dad stands back up, grabbing the soccer goal and the stakes.

Jumping up and pulling on Maggie's sleeve, I exclaim up at her, 'We should be on the same team!'

'Girl power,' She agrees, frowning stubbornly as we descend the porch steps.

Mouse goes running out into the snow with his tennis ball. Dad heads over to the fence, setting down the goal and pushing the stakes through the rubber loops to secure it to the ground. I tell him I hope he did a good job of it, because me and Maggie are gonna be making every goal we shoot for. It's Dad and Carl versus us two girls, so the competition is even fiercer. We gotta win!

'We got this,' Maggie goads as T-Dog takes up the goalie position.

Carol pumps her fist in the air. 'Let's go, girls!'

Everyone starts cheering us on as Maggie kicks the ball straight over to me. The game's begun! I stop it with my foot, watching as she skirts around Dad, shouting for me. I boot it back to her at just the right moment, running forwards.

Maggie dukes Dad, left, right, left, before she kicks it right between his feet and back to me.

I stop it again with my foot.

Carl's on me, suddenly. He tries to use his foot to steal the ball away from me, but I don't let him!

Keeping him at arm's length, I line up my shot with the goal. I've done it a million times before. What's one more!

I rear my foot back, and—!

T-Dog's far too big and slow to see it coming. The ball shoots right past him — Goal! — and crashes into the meshing.

'Point for the girls,' Rick announces from the sidelines.

Maggie runs up to me, grabbing my hands and squealing happily, with the boys sulking together in the background.

We end up winning. There's a few close calls here and there, but we're just too quick on our feet for them to really get any smooth moves in. As the winning goal is made by Maggie, Carl stomps his foot into the snow, complaining, Aww, man!

We use every last bit of energy we have left in us to play for the rest of the morning. For once, not just for getting out of bed, or making it through the day. We manage to get a couple more rounds of soccer in before somebody throws a snowball at my Dad while he's trying to kick a goal, and then it all devolves into a snowball fight. There's no teams or rules; just clumps of snow flying across the yard, people falling over, Rick laughing, and Glenn getting dogpiled to the ground until Dad has to come and rescue him from us.

Nobody's really winning, but I don't think anyone's keeping count, anyway. Nobody's losing, either.

Except maybe Carl, when he tanks a snowball directly to the face.

I gasp. Youch!

He wipes it off with a grin, scurrying off to start preparing some returning fire.

I hurry to join him behind the wall of snow, bulking up my snowball before launching it at one of the adults.

It hits Glenn in the jaw. He lurches; falls onto his ass.

Me and Carl share a high five!

To think I was dreading coming back to this town, when it's actually given me one of the best days of my life.

Is it bad I'm happy the world ended?

Probably, but I don't care.

FIVE MONTHS LATER.

I can hear light birdsong in the trees.

We've stopped again, on some highway or other. I'on know. They all look the same to me. Grey road, winding up a hill, flanked on both sides by a strip of dirt and twigs. While the others get outta the cars, slamming their doors shut and grouping together to discuss what's next, I turn my head away from them and gaze out the passenger side window. The sun warms my face. I remember back during the Wintertime; we hardly ever saw the sun. Hell. That was forever ago. Nowadays, we been fending off heatstroke, feels like.

I close my eyes, relishing in the sounds around me. Leaves brushing, idle engines rumbling.

There are a lot of moments like this for me, where I'll just ignore what everyone else is doing and listen. I'll listen to anything. The car radio, if anybody's got it playing, even if it's a song I don't like. A river flowing. A deer trilling. It's the best part of my day.

"We got nowhere else to go," Herschel's suddenly saying, and then I'm opening my eyes again.

The group is gathered around the hood of the car I'm sat up in, splaying a map out for them to study.

"When this herd meets up with this one," Maggie points, "We'll be cut off. We'll never make it South."

"What'd you say it was? About 150 head?" Dad estimates.

"That was last week." Glenn's shaking his head, squinting against the sun. "It could be twice that by now."

I've heard this exact conversation about thirty times over by now.

That herd from last year; It's thawed and split into two, and neither are getting any smaller. The more they walk, the more they pick up. It's how it's always gone. They been following us, and we been running. That's how that's always gone, too.

We had a couple places we holed up for a while. Sharpsburg served us well while it lasted, but we had to move, eventually.

Now, we're back on the run.

"The river could've delayed them," Herschel suggests. "If we move fast, we might have a shot to tear right through here."

"Yeah, but if that group joins with that one, they could spill out this way."

"So, we're blocked."

We're always blocked, I want to tell Maggie. You know this by now.

In moments like these, I think back to the day we had that snowball fight and try to remember what everyone's smiles looked like.

"Only thing to do is double back at 27," Rick says, "And swing back this way."

Rick's different. For Rick, I think back to the bike ride.

T-Dog's getting frustrated. "We picked through that place, already. It's like we spent the past five months going in circles."

"Yeah, I know. I know."

"Is this what we're doing, then?"

When Rick nods, T-Dog asks him, "Is it alright if we head down to the river to fill up on water, then?"

"Sure. Knock yourself out," He says as they disperse, Maggie rolling up the map.

Herschel whispers something to Rick, then, and I can't quite catch it. My hearing aids ain't that good, but I know it's about Lori because they glance over at her in the car behind me. It's probably the, She can't keep doing this, conversation. Like always, Rick's wiping his sweaty forehead, bullshitting his way through an answer, and like always, Herschel is patient with him. They know he's right.

Lori's about to burst, way her stomach's been looking these days. She's gonna give birth any day now.

I'm just glad she got better and stayed better.

That was a nasty sickness.

Herschel leaves Rick to think about what he's said, making an opening for Dad to ask him to go hunting.

I'm surprised when he turns to me. "You wanna come, chicken?"

There's that Southern twang I once forgot the sound of.

'Come hunting with you?,' I sign, just outta habit. Sometimes, my voice is just too loud for me to bare.

"Yeah. You can stretch yer legs a little. How 'bout it?"

Not wanting to spend one more second in this car, I agree by opening the door and jumping onto the tarmac.

He whistles for Mouse, and then we're walking into the treeline.

"Carl says it was blue, but the boy's blind," I ramble to Rick as we walk along the train tracks, keeping an eye out for animals.

"Between the pair'a ya," Dad muses from in front of us. "You almost make a full vegetable."

"Shut up, Daddy. You ain't funny."

He snickers a little before facing forward again, crossbow at the ready. "Sure I ain't."

"Anyway." I sigh as he pushes a leafy branch outta the way. Rick ducks under it, and then me. "Like I's sayin'—"

When I look up, the sight that greets me has all words dying on my tongue. I slowly catch up with Dad and Rick, who have also completely forgotten about the story I was telling. It weren't very interesting, anyway. Something about a frog Carl and I found the other day. The sun beats down on us as we look out over the sheer drop just in front of us, and at the rolling, green hills in the distance.

Well, I'll be goddamned.

That right there is a whole ass prison.

End Notes.

Okay that's it. I cannot edit this chapter any longer. What's done is done!!

WE ARE FINALLY IN SEASON 3 !! It only took a year and 28 chapters.

I'm very glad to be back in canon again, but writing Christmas with the group was so fun. Also very glad to be able to write Daryl's accent and slang properly again haha. It just didn't translate into sign language. I know some of you will also be relieved that we're not using it much anymore.

As always, I really hope you enjoyed!

Thanks for reading! Until next time! �� :)

[aintgonnatakethis]

Writing Interview Tag!

Big thanks to @moltenwrites for the tag! I've seen this going around and was hoping to be tagged at some point. *rubs hands together* There'll be a readmore at the bottom with the templates for both desktop and mobile.

About me

When did you start writing?

Very young, around 5-6. I remember there was homework where the teacher gave everyone a list of words and asked us to write a sentence with each word. I would turn in a paragraph for each instead 😂 When I was 14 I was writing a lot of Doctor Who fic on FFnet (I can't believe that was 16 years ago 💀) and during the lockdown I started writing again for something to do.

Are there different genres or themes you enjoy reading other than the ones you write?

I don't think so? Sorry, that's a really unsatisfying answer, I know. It's like when you're asked what your favourite book is and you instantly forget every book you've ever read 😂

Is there an author you want to emulate, or are compared to often?

Is this gonna be weird? Probably. Am I gonna fight through the anxiety anyway? Sure, you betcha! @septembriseur is one of the best writers I have ever had the pleasure of reading. Your Telford is second to none. Thank you.

Can you tell me a bit about your writing space?

Just sitting in my bed cradling my laptop. Despite only being 3 and a half years old it's got a whole host of things wrong with it, the most problematic being a loose connection somewhere inside the charging port. To be able to charge I have to sit in a very specific position and stay still, with a metal water bottle braced against the charging cable to keep it pushed in, another cable tied around it with an elastic band and hooked over the opposite side of the laptop. It's... honestly not the best lol. But it's a gaming laptop so getting it fixed would probably be expensive and I just don't have the money.

What’s your most effective way to muster up a muse?

Am I allowed to say drugs? 😂 I'm prescribed ADHD meds and Pregabalin for anxiety, and they both help me focus enough to get words down on the page. I'd be pretty screwed without them tbh. I had an appointment with a doctor today and am getting an instant release ADHD medication added to my prescription as the extended release wears off by mid-to-late afternoon, so maybe I'll be able to get another daily writing session in when I take that!

Did the place(s) you grew up in influence the people and/or places you write about?

Hn. I want to say not really, but it must have influenced me in some way, right? Kids are sponges and will soak up and mimic the behaviours of the adults around them, and often people will reach adulthood with opinions and ideas that they don't even realise were created by an outside influence.

Are there any reoccurring themes in your writing? If so, do they surprise you?

QUEER! And no, it doesn't surprise me at all. 😂 I love writing about self-discovery, characters figuring out they can grow outside of the box society has built for them.

Characters

Would you please tell me about your current favorite character?

So, uh, I'm just gonna link y'all here, where I ramble on about David Telford from Stargate Universe for fucking ages. He's in my brain spinning plates as we speak. (He never stops.)

Which of your characters would you be friends with in real life?

Well, in real life I wouldn't want to be friends with anyone in the military. While the US military is a special interest of mine because of Stargate, I am very aware that these characters are not realistic when compared to their real life counterparts. Realism in this area is one reason my favourite of the series is Universe, but even then these men aren't... Well, let's just say that - just like in politics - you don't get far in the military if you're a good person.

Which characters would you dislike the most of you met them?

😬😬😬 I mean, the fact they're dislikeable is part of the draw, ya know? I think irl-Young would suck absolute balls. 😂

Tell me about the process of coming up with your characters?

Not super applicable as I'm a solely fandom writer, but the parts of the characters we're not given by the show come to me as I write, like puzzle pieces slotting into place. A good back-and-forth conversation is another excellent way to dig deep into them.

Do you notice any reoccurring themes/traits in your characters?

QUEER! But being serious, I've given both Everett Young (SGU) and John Sheppard (SGA) intrusive thoughts...

My writing

What’s your reason for writing?

Escapism. Creativity. The characters are in my head screaming at me.

Is there any specific comment or type of comment from readers that you find particularly motivating?

Ooh, the long back-and-forth conversations! I'm here to talk endlessly about these little fucking blorbos and I will ramble about them to anyone!

How do you want to be thought about by your readers?

Taking this very seriously: a man. I know that fandom is typically a woman-dominated area and I've met quite a few other trans people through Stargate, but yeah. I know there are cultural differences with what are generally considered gender neutral terms around the world, but I do not want to ever be referred to as a girl or with woman-coded terms. I've had to fight hard to be able to be myself: man, dude, bro, there are a lot of choices.

What do you feel is your greatest strength as a writer?

Hmm... consistency? I set the New Year's resolution to write something every day in 2022. That year I missed 2 and half weeks because I had top surgery and while beforehand I thought 'awesome, I'll have plenty of time to write!' it turned out that recent wounds almost in my armpits makes it quite painful to move my arms... 🤔 In 2023 I wrote every day and so far I've kept that up in 2024. It's not always a lot of words, but it's always something.

What have you been told is your greatest strength as a writer is by others?

Characterisation. I've been told I've got my SGU boys (Telford, Young, and Rush) down to a tee.

How do you feel about your own writing?

There's a cycle where I look back at stuff I've written and compare it to what I'm currently writing and think 'this new stuff isn't as good', but in 3 months the stuff I'm currently writing will be what I think is good so... There are pieces I'm especially proud of, of course. If you'd allow me to plug for a moment, I think a memory, a distant echo is one of the best things I've ever written. Mind the tags though.

If you were the last person on earth, would you still write?

Yeah sure. I write primarily for myself so I don't see any reason why I'd stop. I wouldn't live long though lmao

When you write, are you influenced by what others might enjoy reading, do you write purely for yourself, or is it a mix of both?

First point of contact has to be with me, always. If something doesn't resonate with me, I can't write it. Forcing things is going to make writing unenjoyable and for me it's one of the most joyous things I do and I want to keep it that way. That said, if there's specific interest in a certain idea I have, that of course does motivate me. Feedback is the nectar of writers!

Tagging: @fortunatetragedy @bagheerita @frostysfrenzy @adriankyte-writes @frostedlemonwriter

@gioiaalbanoart @septembriseur @authorcoledipalo @anonmadsci @the-golden-comet + OPEN

@wolgerrswraith @chaniis-atlantis

About me

When did you start writing?

Are there different genres or themes you enjoy reading other than the ones you write?

Is there an author you want to emulate, or are compared to often?

Can you tell me a bit about your writing space?

What’s your most effective way to muster up a muse?

Did the place(s) you grew up in influence the people and/or places you write about?

Are there any reoccurring themes in your writing? If so, do they surprise you?

Characters

Would you please tell me about your current favorite character?

Which of your characters would you be friends with in real life?

Which characters would you dislike the most of you met them?

Tell me about the process of coming up with your characters?

Do you notice any reoccurring themes/traits in your characters?

How do you picture your characters?

My writing

What’s your reason for writing?

Is there any specific comment or type of comment from readers that you find particularly motivating?

How do you want to be thought about by your readers?

What do you feel is your greatest strength as a writer?

Have you been told is your greatest strength as a writer is by others?

How do you feel about your own writing?

If you were the last person on earth, would you still write?

When you write, are you influenced by what others might enjoy reading, do you write purely for yourself, or is it a mix of both?

About meWhen did you start writing?Are there different genres or themes you enjoy reading other than the ones you write?Is there an author you want to emulate, or are compared to often?can you tell me a bit about your writing space? What’s your most effective way to muster up a muse?Did the place(s) you grew up in influence the people and/or places you write about?Are there any reoccurring themes in your writing? If so, do they surprise you?Characters: would you please tell me about your current favorite character? Which of your characters would you be friends with in real life?which characters would you dislike the most of you met them?Tell me about the process of coming up with your characters? Do you notice any reoccurring themes/traits in your characters?How do you picture your characters? My writing: what’s your reason for writing?Is there any specific comment or type of comment from readers that you find particularly motivating? How do you want to be thought about by your readers?What do you feel is your greatest strength as a writer?have you been told is your greatest strength as a writer is by others?How do you feel about your own writing?If you were the last person on earth, would you still write?When you write, are you influenced by what others might enjoy reading, do you write purely for yourself, or is it a mix of both?

[goodluckclove]

Tell me about your suffering is art stance. I wish to know. Please and thank you. <3

Man you know I never thought I would openly talk about this part of my life because it was a nosedive that took me literal YEARS to recover from. But I'm seeing a close friend of mine go down the same path despite watching me almost sink into the void, so apparently this isn't universal information.

Storytime, dear ones. And it starts here. TW for mania, derealization, substance abuse, kind of parental abuse, and ultimately suicide related stuff.

This is an issue of Content magazine from 2016. It's a popular arts magazine from the Bay Area of California. Flip through it, it's neat! The arts scene in San Jose and around that area is small, but very dedicated.

Now go to page 56-57. The headline for the interview is "Miranda and the Young Outlaws". I did not choose the headline. I did not decide to have my photo be the only one in color. I was, at one point, Miranda, and at the time of that photo I am 19 years old.

I've been a novelist since 12, but at 16 I got into playwriting. It was instant validation. People thought I was good at it, and I was - though good in a way I don't believe applies anymore. Google my full dead name and you'll see some short plays of mine. Some short stories. I don't really mind putting my full dead name out there, mostly because I worked hard for all of that and would rather not let it die forever. So have at it.

If you read this interview you'd probably be impressed. Maybe envious at the depiction of independent creativity being validated at such a young age. A few notes from my present self:

- when Miranda referenced the rehearsal on the street outside the coffee shop, she neglected to include how once her actors finished the final scene, she laid down on the dirty sidewalk with no warning and began to weep from exhaustion. The cast, her friends from high school, most of them still IN highschool, gathered around her and struggled to calm her down.

- when she describes her "house of recovery" she doesn't mention that her "recovering addict" parents got her hooked on medical cannabis to stop her nightly, hyperventilating panic attacks. Not everyone who smokes weed is addicted. Miranda was for three years.

- "when you're young and you find an art form you're really passionate about it helps you emotionally..." The reporter misquoted Miranda here. It HURTS you. That's what she said. It. Hurts. You.

- I considered the other people in that group photo the most important people in my life. None of them talk to me anymore. I get it, though.

The Young Outlaws was my legacy at the time. We did The Muses, and it was one of the most profound experiences of my life. Then after that I had a complete, screaming mental breakdown the night before our Halloween show.

I was working five jobs at the time. I dropped out of school to focus on theater. I didn't eat much, and every other weekend I wrote a new full-length script in the span of less than two days. I was insane and miserable constantly, but that's what an artist is, isn't it? Someone who suffers? Isn't that what it means to put in effort?

It's crazy, but that brainwashing runs so strong that as I write this it's hard not to think that I was somehow STRONGER back then.

I didn't stop so my body stopped for me. I shut everything down over a video on the Facebook group for my troupe that I filmed while lying on the couch, and then I just kept lying on the couch for days. Then weeks. I have a memory of lying on the patio at dusk, looking up at the clouds pass and wishing desperately that I had enough energy to kill myself.

I didn't write. I didn't write for a long time.

But that's what an artist is...right?

It got better when I stopped smoking weed. As I kept going to therapy and adjusted my medication. Then my foundation broke again and I walked out of the show in Santa Cruz I was emceeing for and made an attempt that landed me in the psych ward for a week.

I did write a play there in the notebook they gave us. A friend I made in the unit gave me the title. If I ever make a Patreon or something I'll put it up there because it's good but it's too painful to ever hear aloud.

Listen. Please listen. Lean in close like we're children sharing a secret.

Suffering isn't cool. It is not helpful. It. Will. Not. Help. You. Not in relationships, not in life, especially not in art. Do not make an identity out of pain that you can get ease or erase entirely. If you are an artist with ANY sort of neurodivergence, you do not have the luxury to be the picture of the Tortured Artist.

Mania shows through artistic pursuit. Same with depression. Same with anger and delusion. But people expect artists to be weird and a little unstable and edgy, so what's the problem?

The problem is I'm dying. The problem is that I could've died. The problem is that so many other artists have.

Writing can still be hard. You can write something that's painful. But if your writing is always hard, always painful, always lonely and doubtful and you never walk away feeling proud of yourself - something is wrong. You need to reframe the way you think about yourself in relationship to your art. This is not an option. The alternatives are that you either don't make art, or you make a few works that some people might find so amazing that they talk about how much of a shame it was that you died early.

A few brave people have shared their writing with me and I've been thrilled and impressed. I'm seeing things that should be on bookshelves. I'm looking up short story journals and practically begging them to submit. To them, to you, to me, and to Miranda, I say this:

Your craft is your heart. It can feel, but it doesn't have to break to be worthy. People don't study the tragic greats because they were drunk and high and mean, they study them because they had a beautiful heart and it is an immense loss that it was shattered so soon. Please don't become another tragedy. Please find a way to listen to your craft and your body with sympathy and tenderness.

Please? For me?

[bomberqueen17]

the far side of the world

i've made it via audiobook to book 10 of Patrick O'Brian's Jack Aubrey / Stephen Maturin series and I initially read these books so long ago that time and again I'm like oh i definitely didn't read this one i don't remember it at all and then I stumble across something that I'm like ... oh, no i definitely read this one so like. well. i just can't tell. But i really do think I'd read these before, and I just was too young to fully understand some of the bits.

I'm making myself not look up spoilers for things so I can be surprised by them as they happen. But some of the things are just. Well. Anyway. I'll cut, so as not to discuss spoilers with anyone else who wanted not to be spoiled.

I was sort of sad, for this book, because Pullings had been promoted and thus wouldn't be in the ship anymore, more's the pity, but oh joy, he has come along as a volunteer! Won't Mowett, who is now first lieutenant after his departure, be jealous or feel slighted, Stephen asked, and Jack says why, anyone else would, but those two get along so well and have already worked it out between them, there will be no trouble among them. Stephen muses that they are polyandrous husbands, to be sure, married to the ship, and Jack needs the word defined and then is sort of gently skeeved-out at the entire notion of polyandry, despite his own imperfect command of monogamy.

This finally drove me to look at AO3 to see if there were any fanfiction specifically of this pairing, because I would completely read Mowett/Pullings/HMS Surprise, treated with any kind of gravity (and crack would also suit). Alas I found none, and distressingly little Pullings/Mowett either. In my mind I have dubbed them the Tubular Husbands, as Mowett is initially described as a "perfectly tubular young man" (I think the description is meant to hint that he is still slender with youth and has not really filled out into full adulthood yet, as I believe he is meant to be a teenager in that first book), and later Pullings is also described as somewhat tubular in form, I think in a musing by one of our principal characters that he has recently filled out and thus is no longer quite so caterpillar-like. Anyway I think Tubular Husbands is a perfect ship name for them and if I were in a fic-writing way at all currently, and not so taken up with my various ongoing shit, I would totally write it. High, excellent potential there.

But I digress. Well, not really, that's about all I had to talk about.

It's hard to quote snippets from an audiobook but the other night I was enamored enough of this passage to transcribe it. Stephen is speaking of Jack's wife, Sophie, who is a dear friend of Stephen's, he and she never having had the slightest romantic chemistry but understanding one another perfectly on a human level for many years.

"I desire you will not top it the Othello, brother, for shame? Stuff on you. If any man so far forgot himself as to make a licentious suggestion to Sophie, she would not understand him for a week. And then she would instantly lay him dead with your double-barreled fowling piece."

Everyone in these books is slightly autistic, to be sure.

Simon Vance is a great narrator, but any accent he does that is not English is just awful. His American accents are painful, and for an Italian woman he did the same bad French accent he does for every Frenchman. it is a shame, otherwise I do like his performance a great deal. Well, on 1.25x speed, otherwise the pauses for effect drag on too much. I do not need a languid cadence for a thirteen-hour piece, thanks much. But it's a delightful performance on 1.25x speed and I am enjoying it greatly, I just wish he had listened to like one Italian person speaking English before doing all the bits with Laura Fielding. Do you really think an Italian would pronounce it Lauxhra with that guttural French R? Meestehr Matuxhrîn! Non, I seenk not.

Anyhow I'm as far as the pacific ocean in book ten don't tell me what happens but do tell me your headcanons about the tubular husbands and just how dedicated they are to this undersized but sweet-sailing frigate.

[liaromancewriter]

Picta Problems

Premise: Cassie and Ethan clash over a Pictagram post.

Book: Open Heart (post series) Pairing: Ethan Ramsey x F!MC (Cassie Valentine) Rating/Category: Teen. Angsty Fluff. Format: Prose + Text & Pic Fic Words: 1,100

A/N: I started with the intent of making fluffy edits; that's it. And then this fic took a life of its own. Submission for @choiceschallenge-may2023 prompt "photographs" and @choicesjunechallenge "stories". I'm using @choicesflashfics week 35, prompt 3.

Part 1: Picta Memories

Part 2: The Backlash

Part 3: The Confrontation

Cassie Valentine was having a good day until she wasn’t. Everyone knew her to be easygoing, often with a smile on her lips, but serious about her work. Her friends and foes agreed on one thing: she had a long fuse, and it took a lot for her to lose that sunny disposition.

Of course, she wasn’t a saint, and medicine wasn’t a career for eternal optimists. But she found a way to keep her balance despite everything fate threw at her.

That’s why many people milling about on the seventh floor of Boston’s Edenbrook Hospital were surprised to see her angry expression as she furiously tapped on her cell phone. Sensing her distraction, they stayed out of her way.

But the rumors spread. Dr. Valentine was in a bad mood. Best to wait until it evened out. She might be slow to anger, but she was also quick to diffuse.

The traveling nurse assigned to that floor asked his colleagues if the young doctor might just be hangry. Perhaps a cookie could turn the tide.

“She’s partial to cupcakes,” one of them commented.

“And coffee,” another piped in, having witnessed Dr. Valentine and Dr. Ramsey returning from their daily coffee run for years.

“Could she have had a fight with Dr. Ramsey?” one recently hired nurse wondered.

The idea was so preposterous that everyone around the nurses’ station laughed. They were still wiping tears from their eyes when Ethan Ramsey stepped off the elevator and marched determinedly down the hallway to his former office.

Everyone held their breath and pretended to be busy as he paused midway to stare at them. He quirked one eyebrow, a perplexed frown forming on his lips and then he shook his head and continued walking.

Still puzzling over the bizarre behavior at the nurses’ station, Ethan absently swiped his access card on the reader outside the diagnostic team’s office and strode through the sliding glass doors.

“Any idea what’s happening outside?” he called out.

Cassie was staring at scans on the digital board and didn’t respond. Not giving it another thought, Ethan joined her and shoved his hands in his pant pockets as he stared at what appeared to be a patient’s brain. The shadows told their own story about the individual’s condition.

“Hmm,” he mused and rocked back on his heels. “See that—”

“I know how to read a scan, Ethan,” Cassie said curtly, throwing him an annoyed look. “Believe it or not, I am adult enough to do my job without anyone watching over my shoulder.”

“What’s wrong?”

“I’m pissed off at you!”

Taken aback by her vehemence, Ethan started to reach for her, only for Cassie to evade his touch. She walked around him and took her place behind the desk, putting physical and emotional distance between them.

“Is this about my text message earlier?” Ethan asked, mentally tracking their interactions during the day.

“Partially,” she said. “It’s about you not trusting me enough to know when to draw the line about publicizing our relationship. I barely post about you. If people didn’t already know about us, they’d think I was single. But that isn’t good enough for you, is it?”

Ethan wondered how his day had gone from breakfast in bed with his lover to her looking at him as if he was a stranger. He didn’t think their text exchange had been that serious, but clearly, Cassie disagreed.

“I already apologized,” he said, sighing deeply, unable to hide his irritation.

“Until the next time,” Cassie bit out. “I can’t be in a relationship where I’m constantly walking on eggshells. I ask for very little, Ethan, but I demand your trust in this. I’ve earned it.”

She was right, thought Ethan. She’d had enough experience with tabloids to be a fiend about her privacy. And as someone intimately familiar with her Pictagram feed, he knew his presence was an exception, not the rule.

Of all the things she could be upset about, he found it hilarious that it was over this. He admitted his first reaction was annoyance at seeing a private moment shared on social media and having her friends comment. But there hadn’t been malicious intent involved.

Like it or not, he was involved with Cassie, and she had earned his trust. Not just for this, but for all other things too.

“Why are you smiling at me like that?” Cassie asked suspiciously, her green eyes narrowing to slits.

Instead of answering, he walked around the desk, turned her chair and placed his hands on either side of her chair, effectively caging her. He leaned in, his blue eyes intent as they locked on hers.

“I.” He kissed her forehead. “Am.” Then the tip of her nose. “Sorry.” He brushed his lips across hers. “I overreacted. Forgive me?”

He didn’t think she’d respond, but she seemed to deflate before his eyes, losing the tightness in her body as her anger left.

“Fine,” she said somewhat graciously. “But we should set some ground rules because I’m not ashamed of our relationship. I might not want to end up on HSTea, but that doesn’t mean I want to hide away completely.”

She pushed against his arms until he moved back to let her stand.

“There are obligations to who I am, Ethan,” Cassie said, deadly serious as she crossed her arms across her chest. “If we’re going to go the distance, you need to accept that being with a Valentine comes with social responsibilities and prurient interest from strangers.”

She continued, staring at him carefully. “My family tries their best to keep the limelight away from me, but they cannot make it disappear completely. It will shine on you too, and you have to be okay with it even if you don’t like it.”

“I see,” he said cautiously for lack of anything else to say.

The shrill sound of his pager cut through the uncomfortable silence. Ethan cursed and glanced at the tiny screen.

“I have to go, but I do want to discuss this, Cassie,” he said. “Meet me for dinner tonight. We can talk without interruption.”

She nodded rigidly, and Ethan exhaled. He touched her hand, needing that connection before they went their separate ways. He took comfort when she hooked her pinky around his and smiled softly.

As he walked back to his office in the administrative wing, Ethan thought it would likely be the most important dinner of his life. But there was no decision to make. He’d already decided to fall in love with Cassie. Everything started from there.

------------------

All Fics & Edits: @annfg8 @bluebelle08 @coffeeheartaddict2 @crazy-loca-blog @doriopenheart @genevievemd @headoverheelsforramsey @lucy-268 @jamespotterthefirst @jerzwriter @lady-calypso @mainstreetreader @peonierose @potionsprefect @queencarb @quixoticdreamer16 @rookiemartin @socalwriterbee @takemyopenheart @tessa-liam @trappedinfanfiction

Submissions: @choicesficwriterscreations @openheartfanfics

Ethan & Cassie only: @cariantha @custaroonie @hopelessromantic1352 @mrs-ramsey

[nehswritesstuffs]

HEART PIRATES WEEK 2024 - Part 7 of 9

I told myself last year that I was going to participate in Heart Pirates Week this year, and by thunder I'm going to participate in Heart Pirates Week!

Day Seven: Bepo - Return

581 words; takes place nebulously some time after the Hearts set out on their own but before recruiting (my guess for ages is Law 17, Shachi 18, Penguin 19, and Bepo 13); this one has a bit of cussing and gets near horror territory; still not read-through

-_-_-_-_-_-_-

It was summer as the four teens were sitting on the shore of an island, the evening breeze warmer than they’d had in a long time. They had a campfire going where they were roasting the fish they had caught earlier in the day, its light beginning to cast shadows on and behind the young pirates.

“I can’t believe we were able to catch mackerel and herring!” Bepo said happily. He began to poke the embers with a stick and some of the campfire popped. “Usually it’s one or the other!”

“There must be something weird about this part of the North Blue,” Penguin mused. “Getting a school of both fish together like that is…”

“…because of the currents,” Law stated. “On the other side of the island there’s an ocean current that goes opposite of the one we came on. They must have followed that.”

“Yeah, but why the currents are like that is the question,” Bepo mused. “Didn’t you see the maps?”

“We all did,” Penguin replied, “but might as well be Poneglyphs to me.”

The young bear’s ears perked up. “Oh! It’s not that hard! You just—!”

“Hey,” Shachi said, casually backhanding Penguin’s arm without looking. “Would you look at that.”

“Look at what…?” The other teens turned and looked to see that Shachi was pointing to where the clouds were parting over the horizon, revealing a reddish, largish full moon that had yet to rise high enough in the sky to look like normal. The three Humans all nodded in appreciation, while the Mink…

“Guys, I don’t feel so good,” Bepo whined. He laid down in the sand, unsure if he should hold his head or his stomach. His fur all stood on-end as something rippled through him.

“Do you think it was the herring?” Shachi wondered. “I thought that one looked a bit sus…”

“I doubt it was the herring,” Law frowned. He ran a Scan on Bepo and his brow furrowed. “None of this makes sense…”

“What doesn’t make sense?” Penguin asked. Law continued staring.

“He’s… changing…?”

“He’s a six-foot teenaged polar bear, of course he’s changing!” Penguin fired back. The two exchanged a glare while Shachi went to feel Bepo’s forehead.

“Well, he doesn’t have a feveraaahhhhhhh!” He pulled his hand away as Bepo snapped at his hand—something he rarely did, if ever. That caught all of their attention, the three older teens watching in horror and confusion as they watched their cuddly baby brother stand, his eyes glowing red as he grew in stature and fur became long and wild.

“Ohhh… fuck…” Law cursed, realizing what was going on. “This is very, very bad.”

“What do you mean by that?!” Shachi panicked, voice cracking. “This screams bad!”

“I mean: Bepo told me about this, but we thought it wasn’t going to happen,” Law replied. “This was supposed to be cultural, not biological!” He opened a Room and lifted Bepo high into the air, their other two companions staring on in horror. Penguin took a burning stick from the fire to arm himself, while Shachi hid behind Law.

“What did you and Bep fail to tell us about?” Penguin hissed. It was clear that this was no ordinary puberty-related thing, as he watched the gentle kid of the group bulk up and roar unlike anything he’d ever seen and heard. Law swallowed hard, sweat beginning to bead on his forehead as he knew they were in for a night of trouble.

“Sulong.”

[timkonshipper]

Misunderstandings(otherwise known as Bruce's A+ parenting)

Bruce tries his best to be a good parent, he really does. But, he might have misunderstood some things along the way. Looking back on it, he probably should have talked to Alfred. 

_________________________________________________________

Bruce was in the batcave working on the Burton case. He had been at it for 3 days already and still wasn't any close to cracking it. The cave was empty - his children were scattered around the house save for Tim who was on a young justice mission. Popping his knuckles, he sipped his coffee and grimaced. He hadn't been here that long had he?

As if reading his mind, the posh voice of Alfred broke his quiet musings "Master Bruce, I do advise you take a break from holing yourself in this drab cave and shower. Master Damian has requested your presence in the evening." 

Knowing better than to refuse the old butler, Bruce stood up but not without sulking. 

"Do not make that face Master Bruce. It is unbefitting of a man such as yourself. "

Long after Bruce had showered and reacquired himself a hot cup of coffee he heard the soft whirring of the zeta tubes. Giving his son a couple minutes to change, he sipped at his mug quietly. Believing it had been enough time, he started "Welcome back Tim, how was the mission? Also, after you shower I was hoping you could share some insight on the Burton case. It's been puzzling me for a while. "

Setting his mug down, Bruce turned to face his second youngest. As he expected, the teen was in some loose workout clothes. But his face was oddly pink. 

Bruce addressed him with thinly veiled concern "Tim you're flushed. Are you coming down with something? Were you exposed to any unknown substances during the mission? "

Instead of answering him quickly like he expected, his son stuttered out a response "No Bruce, I'm fine. I'm just tired from the mission. I should go take some rest. I'll help with the case later"

Judging by the way Tim became even more red, Bruce could deduce Tim was hiding something. "Tim, you don't have to hide if you're sick. Nevermind the case, go take some rest, I'll tell Alfred to bring you soup later. "

Quietly nodding, Tim soon left. Bruce turned back to the batcomputer and opened the mission report. While he trusted his son, he could have been exposed to contaminants without knowing. However, as he read through the report, his face became pinched. Apparently red robin's bike had been damaged during the mission and he had been carried back to base by superboy. It took him a while to process, but he wasn't all that bad with emotions contrary to what his children liked to believe. It was actually fairly easy to deduce. Tim wasn't sick - he was flustered. He must have a crush on superboy or something. 

The clone wasn't a threat and certainly not the worst his son could pick. But as he was about to close the document, a thought suddenly struck him. He recollected something Diana had said a while ago. She had been extremely happy to announce her protege, wondergirl, was in a relationship with superboy. 

Bruce's hand on his mouse stilled. He knew the drakes had messed Tim up quite a bit. It had taken a lot of love and affection to reassure a young Tim that Bruce wouldn't abandon him like his parents did. Bruce knew that his crush already being in a relationship would hurt Tim an unimaginable amount. 

His brain ventured into a dark part - his own teenage years. He had been quite the playboy, but he could never quite get over his first heartbreak. It had broken him in a way that he couldn't describe. 

Shaking the memories off, Bruce hardened his resolve. He wouldn't let his son end up heartbroken. While threatening the clone directly would sadden Tim, there was no rule against targeting the girlfriend. Distracted by concern, he didn't notice Damian sneak up behind him and tap his shoulder. 

Occupied by his youngest, the rest of the day passed by in a blur. But Bruce didn't forget, afterall, while he may not be an expert at parenting, he did try his best. 

______________________________________________________________

*Next mission*

Bruce accompanied Tim to Mt. Justice for the mission briefing. The room stilled upon Batman's entrance. Tim wasted no time in fleeing his side to go stand by his teammates.

Clearing his throat - he had an image to maintain afterall - he quickly summed up the objectives and details of the mission. "Any questions?" he announced in his deep gravelly voice. Both wondergirl and impulse's hands went up. But overlooking wondergirl whom he usually chose most of the time, Bruce pointed at impulse who then began talking a mile a minute. 

After having spent quite a lot of time with Barry, he knew to pick apart the young speedsters words before providing him with a no-nonsense answer. As soon as he finished his response, wondergirl started speaking, there was no-one else waiting afterall. But Bruce simply raised his hand, an obvious sign of dismissal. Wondergirl's confused sputters went unheard as he swiftly pivoted and walked back to the zeta tubes. In a totally not dramatic fashion thank you very much.

As he was about to step in, his ears picked up the girl's indignant complaints to her teammates. Smirking, Bruce returned to the batcave. 

The pattern carried on for quite a while with bruce even going as far as scowling and actively reprimanding her. After every mission, he would give her a thorough scolding if she made even the slightest mistake. With every passing mission, wondergirl became more and more troubled. The boys were also confused with Batman's odd behavior as their own mistakes went unnoticed. Eventually, a meeting was called between the four of them and Tim was elected as the obvious representative to clear the matter up up. 

________________________________________________________

*at the batcave*

It was a quiet day for the bats so most of the family had retired to the mansion for a game night. Tim and Bruce were the only ones still in the cave. 

Awkwardly Tim began "Hey B, can we talk."

Confused by his son's tone of voice, Bruce responded "Of course we can chum, what's bothering you?"

With some newfound confidence, Tim finally said what had been on everyone's minds lately. "Um, the team and I have been concerned about your behavior with wondergirl lately. Any particular reason. "

Playing innocent, Bruce replied harmlessly "Whatever do you mean? Has my behavior been odd?"

Tim knew better though, "Cut the act B. You've been really short with her lately, dodge all her questions and concerns and start scowling at even the mention of her name? You don't notice any of the mistakes kon, bart and I make as you're far too engrossed in yelling at her. What's up with that? She's really worried she did something wrong and now you're going to kick her off the team. "

Realising he may have gone a bit too far, he knew the truth had to come out soon. Starting with a sigh "Here's the thing and hear me out properly without interrupting. When you returned home blushing from a mission, I passed it off as you simply hiding an illness. But after looking through the report, I realised you were flustered from your contact with superboy when he carried you. I wasn't worried that you had a crush on him, he's a good one. But I remembered Diana telling me that him and Cassie were together. I was worried about you and maybe that rubbed off onto my interactions with her. I just want you to be happy Tim. "

Bruce had dismissed Tim's interuptions until that point with a single raised finger, but after finishing, he let him speak. Instead of talking however, Tim started laughing. For a second, he thought Tim had been hit with laughing gas. It took him a frankly embarrassing amount of time to realise that Tim was laughing at him. Confused, Bruce was about to ask him what was wrong. 

Tim didn't stop laughing, but  raised his hand to let him know he was going to say something. After a ten or so minutes(he was getting really concerned), Tim finally calmed down. "Bruce, you've got it all wrong. Diana probably told you years ago, but as you were working on the Burton case, your mind probably forgot to remember that. Kon and Cassie broke up ages ago. Also, it's not a crush"

Now Bruce was really confused but before he could interrupt, Tim continued. "I'm glad he has your support because we're dating. Now I know there's something you want to say so go ahead. "

"But the blushing? If you were already dating, why were you blushing from a little contact?"

Now Tim looked a little sheepish "That wasn't because of kon carrying me actually. My face was flushed because I had just made out with kon a couple minutes before leaving"

Bruce knew he probably looked lost which was a rare expression on his face, however the reality of his actions hit him. He had been unneededly aggressive to wonder woman's protege and even led her to believe she was being taken off the team. 

Sensing his thoughts, Tim chuckled. "Don't worry, I'll tell the team the reason behind your actions. Cassie will get a good laugh out of it. "

While his image was probably going to be ruined, it was far better than the alternative - an angry wonder woman coming after him. 

But wanting to have the last laugh, he smirked a little. "Thanks for telling me Tim. But remember, be safe and make sure to use protection. Also you still have your brothers to worry about so you may want to warn conner about that" with that little tidbit, he turned and left the cave. He could hear Tim's embarassed shrieking behind him. 

_________________________________________________________

[twoidiotwriters1]

The Curse of Oenone (Leo Valdez xFem!Oc)

A/N: I just had to use a Hercules GIF i love that movie sm -Danny Words: 2,694 Series' Masterlist Previous Chapter // Next Chapter Listen to: 'Vida La Vida' -by Coldplay

XIX: The Son of Olympus

First impression of Heracles: Hot. He's a god, so of course he'd look the part. He kind of reminds her of Percy, if Percy were a Gym-bro.

Piper's the first to speak. "Hello."

"What's up?" Hercules replies.

"Uh, not much." Piper glances at Ara, and the girl encourages her to keep going. "Well, actually, a lot. I'm Piper. This is Jason and Ara. We—"

"Where's your lion skin?" Jason blurts out.

Piper elbows the boy. Luckily, Hercules seems to find the outburst funny. "It's ninety degrees out here. Why would I wear my lion skin? Do you wear a fur coat to the beach?"

"I guess that makes sense." Jason pouts. "It's just that the pictures always show you with a lion skin."

The god glances at the sky with annoyance. "Don't believe everything you hear about me. Being famous isn't as fun as you might think."

"Tell me about it," Piper mumbles.

"Are you famous?"

"My dad... he's in the movies."

"Don't get me started with the movies! Gods of Olympus, they never get anything right. Have you seen one movie about me where I look like me?"

"I'm surprised you're so young," Piper agrees.

"Ha! Being immortal helps. But, yes, I wasn't so old when I died. Not by modern standards. I did a lot during my years as a hero... too much, really." He eyes Jason. "Son of Zeus, eh?"

"Jupiter," Jason corrects.

"Not much difference," Hercules shrugs. "Dad's annoying in either form. Me? I was called Heracles. Then the Romans came along and named me Hercules. I didn't really change that much, though lately just thinking about it gives me splitting headaches... At any rate, if you're Jupiter's son, you might understand. It's a lot of pressure. Enough is never enough. Eventually it can make a guy snap."

He looks at Piper. "As for you, my dear, be careful. Sons of Zeus can be... well, never mind." He locks eyes with Ara. "You're the newest Olympian sensation, aren't you?"

"Ara Jackson," she considers shaking his hand, but she doesn't want him to feel how much she's shaking.

He tilts his head. "Who was your godly parent?"

"Aphrodite."

Hercules burst out laughing, making Ara want to punch his nose. "Has the quality of heroes decreased, or are Aphrodites more sturdy than in ancient times?"

"We've always been sturdy," she scoffs.

"So the quality decreased," he muses. "That sucks."

"You su—"

"Lord Hercules," Piper intervenes. "We're on a quest. We'd like permission to pass into the Mediterranean."

Hercules turns to her, still chuckling. "That's why I'm here. After I died, Dad made me the doorkeeper of Olympus. I said, Great! Palace duty! Party all the time! What he didn't mention is that I'd be guarding the doors to the ancient lands, stuck on this island for the rest of eternity. Lots of fun."

He points at the pillars.

"Stupid columns. Some people claim I created the whole Strait of Gibraltar by shoving mountains apart. Some people say the mountains are the pillars. What a bunch of Augean manure. The pillars are pillars."

"Right," Piper replies. "Naturally. So... can we pass?"

"Well, I have to give you the standard warning about how dangerous the ancient lands are. Not just any demigod can survive the Mare Nostrum. Because of that, I have to give you a quest to complete. Prove your worth, blah, blah, blah. Honestly, I don't make a big deal of it. Usually I give demigods something simple like a shopping trip, singing a funny song, that sort of thing. After all those labors I had to complete for my evil cousin Eurystheus, well... I don't want to be that guy, you know?"

"Appreciate it," Jason nods.

"Hey, no problem," Hercules continues, eyeing Ara. "But I kind of want to see the little one in action."

"Call me little again, and I'll use you as the demonstration dummy," she says dryly.

The young god snorts. "So what's your quest?"

"Giants," Jason explains. "We're off to Greece to stop them from awakening Gaea."

"Giants. I hate those guys. Back when I was a demigod hero... ah, but never mind. So which god put you up to this—Dad? Athena? Maybe Aphrodite?" He glances at Piper with a sly smile. "As pretty as you are, I'm guessing that's your mom too."

Ara senses the danger, but Jason thinks she's about to snap and acts faster. "Hera sent us. She brought us together to—"

"Hera."

The air around Hercules changes, and Piper tries to fix it. "We hate her too. We didn't want to help her. She didn't give us much choice, but—"

"But here you are," Hercules glares at them. "Sorry, you three. I don't care how worthy your quest is. I don't do anything that Hera wants. Ever."

"But I thought you made up with her when you became a god," Jason frowns.

"Like I said, don't believe everything you hear. If you want to pass into the Mediterranean, I'm afraid I've got to give you an extra-hard quest."

"Man, c'mon!" Ara complains. "You know I'm forced to follow orders!"

"And yet you wear that mantle with pride."

"But we're like brothers," Jason insists. "Hera's messed with my life, too. I understand—"

"You understand nothing. My first family: dead. My life wasted on ridiculous quests. My second wife dead, after being tricked into poisoning me and leaving me to a painful demise. And my compensation? I got to become a minor god. Immortal, so I can never forget my pain. Stuck here as a gatekeeper, a doorman, a... a butler for the Olympians. No, you don't understand. The only god who understands me even a little bit is Dionysus. And at least he invented something useful. I have nothing to show except bad film adaptations of my life."

"That's horribly sad, Lord Hercules. But please go easy on us. We're not bad people," Piper uses her charmspeak, but it's hard to sweet-talk a god.

Hercules's eyes harden. "On the opposite side of this island, over those hills, you'll find a river. In the middle of that river lives the old god Achelous."

"...and?" Jason frowns.

"And I want you to break off his other horn and bring it to me."

"He has horns," Jason pauses. "Wait... his other horn? What—?"

"Figure it out! Here, this should help." Hercules tosses a tiny book at Piper. "Bring me that horn by sundown. Just the two of you. No contacting your friends. Your ship will remain where it is. If you succeed, you may pass into the Mediterranean."

"And if we don't succeed?" Piper scowls.

"Well, Achelous will kill you, obviously. And I will break your ship in half with my bare hands and send your friends to an early grave."

"Touch my ship," Ara warns him, "and I'll stick my sword up your—"

"Couldn't we just sing a funny song?" Jason pleads.

"I'd get going," Hercules says with disinterest. "Sundown. Or your friends are dead. And you," he summons a chair for Ara. "We should talk."

Ara shouts a lot of insults that make Piper and Jason look back in alarm as they walk away, but either Hercules finds her amusing, or he's not allowed to hurt a child of Olympus, because he lets her yell until she tires out.

He makes two drinks appear. "Grape. Non-alcoholic for the crybaby."

Ara scowls at the glass. "I'm not a baby."

Hercules sets his club next to her. Ara's barely a head taller than the weapon. "You sure?"

She kicks the club and snatches the grape juice. "I knew you were a jerk, but I didn't know you were petty too."

"Children of Olympus are all petty," he sits down. "Blend too much free time and excessive egos, and you get one of us. We're provoked easily, and we have a talent to incite."

Ara looks back at the ship. Someone's on deck staring in their direction, probably Leo. She's stuck here with Mr Simpathy, so why not employ the time for something useful?

"What being a son of Olympus entails..."

"Do you know what it entails?" He interrupts her.

"Well... I serve the gods."

"Until you die," he pauses. "Although they could promote you to some other thing if they like you. But basically, your life is theirs."

She shrugs. "I don't mind being put to use."

"Because you don't understand what it means," he drinks his wine. "This isn't a reward, kid. You're a threat to all mortals."

"That was before," she argues. "I'm not like you."

Hercules raises a brow. "Then why do you hold that sword? And wear my cloak?"

"I fought a war, and been to dangerous places, all just to keep my loved ones safe. I am not you."

Hercules rolls his eyes. "You pledged your life to Olympus, and you did it for one reason only—You're starving," His words resonate within her unpleasantly. "Have you done something about that hunger, or has it done nothing but grow?"

Ara replies quietly, avoiding his eyes. "I don't know..."

"How long have you been a daughter of Olympus?"

"A year."

Hercules frowns. "How old are you?"

Ara keeps her eyes down. "I'll be fifteen in a few days."

"You're younger than Achilles and I when we were chosen..." his voice sounds different now. "Why?"

"Why what?"

"Why did you turn into this?"

She clears her throat. "I got tired of burning shrouds. If the gods won't help us, then I will."

Hercules's demeanor changes, he looks pitiful. "We don't help people."

"Maybe you didn't, but I will."

"We're killers. That's what the gods will ask of you, to take out the trash so their home is clean. We'll never be role models."

"I don't want praise," she replies defiantly.

"You say that now," Hercules shrugs. "Get a couple more blessings and see if the treatment doesn't start to feel a little unjust."

"I might die soon, so it doesn't matter," she says bitterly. "Might as well do something good with the time I have left."

He tilts his head with interest, like he's listening to something Ara can't. "Ah... yes, I see it," He smiles and looks to the horizon. "I know the story—Oenone swore Paris would regret leaving her. He'd never get his ideal life with his ideal woman. The nymph then killed herself out of guilt, as the unstable creature she always was."

The girl doesn't even bother to ask how he knows all this, she assumes gods have their ways to poke around a mortal's business. "Well, according to Aphrodite, this life will be no different if I don't do something."

"That's wishful thinking."

"The fates chose us to be part of this prophecy—Two souls in the right place, and right time."

The god shrugs again. "How do you break a centuries-old curse?"

"I don't know. Might be tied to the Mark of Athena—"

Hercules snorts. "You're not a child of Athena, so I doubt it."

"Janus said one of my paths was threading in that direction."

"It can't be the Mark of Athena," he brushes it off.

"Then what is it?" She asks with irritation.

Hercules makes a face. "Do I look like an oracle? I don't know. The price you'll pay has to be high, equal to the value of your curse. They won't set you free otherwise."

"There is no real freedom in a world ruled by prophecies," she scowls.

Hercules can't hide his amusement. "You're so intense. All children of Olympus die by their doing, you know? Honor, power... what's your poison?"

"That's it, I'm going back to my ship now, this is useless!" Ara stands up from her chair. "You won't treat my work as a worthless effort."

"You are fourteen," he corrects her calmly. "No one's saying you're worthless, you're a kid."

Ara blinks. "What?"

He finishes his wine and tosses the goblet over his shoulder. "You're drowning, and what for? You're a child that acts like a child and you tricked yourself into thinking that's wrong. Your ambition, little dove, it's eating your youth away."

Ara stares at him. She likes being young... or she did before Percy brought all these grown-up situations, and she had to catch up with him so he didn't leave her behind. Her brother was her entire world for a long, long time, and at some point, they grew apart, just like she'd always feared. Ara's solution was to force her way into the spotlight so she wouldn't be ignored ever again.

"Let's see, you have..." Hercules examines the embroidery on her cloak. "Six blessings? You're burning out faster than Achilles and I ever did."

Ara's too angry and confused to process what's been said to her, but Hercules keeps going.

"You know why the gods don't give all the blessings? Above ten would be a VIP pass to things a human can't handle," Hercules sighs. "You won't be here for long, and they've always liked playing safe."

He says it like Ara is the most recent doll in the market, and soon she'll go out of fashion and the gods will forget she was even there, just like Helen.

"Any advice?" She asks.

"Yeah," he leans back on his seat. "Watch your mouth. You're young, and there are forces out there that won't hesitate to put you in your place. Teach yourself to be scarier with no symbols of power that announce it to your enemies. And one more thing..."

He looks back at the ship, Ara turns and spots Leo leaning on the railing. When she looks at him, he waves effusively and blows a kiss in her direction.

"Achilles stepped into this role and lost Patroclus," Hercules says absently. "I lost my mind... you will lose, Ara Jackson, and that will be the beginning of the end. The path you chose is nothing but sad and lonely."

"It was bound to be that way no matter what," her voice quivers.

Hercules glances at Leo again. "Yes... you better get used to it. That boy can start over if he survives, you cannot."

Ara nods and adds weakly. "Is it better than being mortal, being a god?"

He responds thoughtfully. "Being a god is... slow-paced. Nothing new happens, nothing old ever comes back. If you interact with mortals, you forget their faces as soon as they leave—if an immortal reaches out, it's meaningless."

"By that, you mean..?"

"Immortals, they don't even look at you. Might as well be hallucinating those meetings."

"Cool," Ara replies dryly. "Well, uh... I have nothing else to say."

Hercules laughs. "I could talk you to death... I'd never known a demigod like you, let alone a daughter of Aphrodite," he looks at the small figures approaching. "But your friends are back."

Ara approaches them anxiously. "Gods almighty—You okay?"

"All good," Jason nods.

"Good," Hercules hums. "You got it. In that case, you are free to go."

"You heard him. He gave us permission," Piper nudges Jason's arm. "That means our ship will be able to pass into the Mediterranean?"

"Yes, yes. Now, the horn," the god demands impatiently.

"No."

"Excuse me?"

"Achelous was right," Piper lifts the horn as if it were a bazooka. "You're his curse as much as he is yours. You're a sorry excuse for a hero."

Ara and Hercules share a look as if saying. "Are we hearing that right?"

"You realize I could kill you with a flick of my finger," he raises a brow. "I could throw my club at your ship and cut straight through its hull. I could—"

"You could shut up," Jason continues. "Maybe Zeus is different from Jupiter. Because I wouldn't put up with any brother who acts like you."

Hercules's face gets purple with anger. "You would not be the first demigod I've killed."

"Woah!" Ara steps in. "Let's not throw death threats around, okay?" She turns to Piper and mouths 'What the hell?' but her sister ignores her.

"Jason is better than you. But don't worry. We're not going to fight you. We're going to leave this island with the horn. You don't deserve it as a prize. I'm going to keep it, to remind me of what not to be like as a demigod, and to remind me of poor Achelous and Deianira."

"Do not mention that name!" Hercules snaps. "You can't seriously think I'm worried about your puny boyfriend. No one is stronger than me."

"I didn't say stronger, I said he's better."

Piper lifts the horn a little higher, and from it bursts out a wide variety of fresh food and baked sweets—a whole godly feast. Piper pulls Ara away from the mountain of edibles. "Go!"

Jason seizes them, flying back to the Argo II.

"Kill!" Hercules screams in anger, crawling out from under the food.

Everyone seems to know what's happening except Ara. Leo flies the ship away without asking questions, and Percy summons a huge tide to keep Hercules from throwing coconuts at them.

Next Chapter ->

Taglist.

@siriuslysirius1107 @ask-giggles1303 @asnyox-the-hoarder @im-planning-something-look @bandshirts-andbooks @coolninjapaper @thewaterlily @whenisthefall @1randomcomic @you-bloody-shank @sunflowergraves @owlalex44 @taylordaughter @typicalsolangelolover @writingmia @espressopatronum454 @slytherinnqueen @orbitingpolaris @obxstiles @ellipsisspelled @thepixiechicksh

[tayfabe75]

What are your thoughts on The Alchemy? All the football references make you think it's about Travis, but if you take them away, the rest of the song just doesn't make sense for him in my opinion. Especially with “this happens once every few lifetimes” from it and “once in 20 lifetimes” from cardigan. 

Hey, anon! Honestly, I'm so glad you asked about this song. When I first heard 'The Alchemy', I was cackling at what I believed were obvious football-related red herrings… This suspicion grew exponentially when Taylor decided to mash it up with 'Treacherous' of all things!

And of course, it's "touch down", not "touchdown":

Which implies some sort of aircraft… an airplane? (Perhaps a UFO? 🛸)

Even if it is a sports reference, who's to say it's not rugby? Especially when paired with the word "blokes"… Also, what's with the word "blokes" anyway? Americans don't say that! lol And Taylor sang it with a heavy accent during the acoustic set…

Now, I know what you might be thinking, since I've seen a few 75 fans get upset with Taylor over this song, assuming it's super petty and she's making fun of Matty. Well, part of my personal ethos is to give people the benefit of the doubt rather than automatically assume malintent. So, my thinking is that even if Matty truly did ditch Taylor because he couldn't take the heat of her fan's burning pitchforks and he thought he was doing her a favor by leaving… the absolute last thing she would do is write songs making fun of him for it. The woman who wrote 'Peace'?! Nah, I don't buy it!

I firmly believe that Matty gave TTPD his blessing. I think it's chiefly an album reflecting an earlier time in Taylor's life, a time she couldn't write about any of that stuff without giving away Matty's identity and personal details of his life that he did not want to be public (it was not just her story to tell). Now, though... Matty has since shown incredible vulnerability and bravery in discussing his past addictions, and frankly, humanizing addicts for his impressionable young fans! Taylor, too, has great empathy for those struggling with addiction - something she spoke about a few times throughout the 1989 tour (gee, I wonder why…) usually preceding the song 'Clean'.

And though they have at least a decade-long public history, Matty was only recently "inducted" as a muse into the "Taylor Swift Cinematic Universe". If I had any, I'd bet money that Taylor had the green light to write this album from Matty, himself (and that he's been easter egging the hell out of it leading up to its release!)

Like you, "once every few lifetimes" immediately reminded me of 'Cardigan'. Of course, you have a reference to heroin (see above), and someone getting out of a hospital… making this song almost sound like it's, at least in part, from Matty's perspective. Ditch the clowns, cut the amateurs...

And, whoever's heart is reserved, the sign is not still there for someone they just met, right? If it is about someone new, then it sounds more like a restaurant reservation or something. Not the most romantic metaphor (and frankly, a strange one if you ask me!)

Further, the song is from 2023:

Anon, I just can't suspend my disbelief enough to hear this as a song written for someone she just started dating (way more "unhinged" than the exchange of "I love yous" with someone you've known for ten years, anyway...) But! I very well could be wrong. Hopefully time will tell.

Lastly, there's something called an "alchemical marriage", which is a sacred union that transcends the physical realm into the spiritual, joining twin flame souls together. Do with that what you will...

Thanks for the ask! 🤍

[redwolfstabs]

SONGS FOR STUILLY. AGAIN. ‼️ [saying this now, a lot of these lyrics are toxic as all hell, but so is stuilly, so it checks out-]

• Let’s kill tonight [panic at the disco] [this songs repeats a lot so-]

“You’re the galantine. Cold and alone, it suits you well.”

Stu as he talks about/to Billy.

“Let’s kill tonight, kill tonight. Show them all you’re not the ordinary type.”

This could go either way with these two.

• Stockholm Syndrome [Muse]

“I won’t stand in your way, let your hatred grow.”

Stu talking to Billy after what Maureen did.

“And she’ll scream, and she’ll shout, and she’ll pray. And she had a name- yeah she had a name.”

Also about Maureen, could either be Stu or Billy tbh

“This is the last time I’ll abandon you. And this is, the last time I’ll forget you.”

Billy as he speaks to Stu [I think of the kitchen scene..]

“And we’ll love, and we’ll hate, and we’ll die. All to no avail.”

Either one of them, after the kitchen scene

• This is Love [Air traffic Controller]

“You’re no good you’re no good, you could kill me and you should.”

Stu speaking to Billy.

“You must like being the victim, you’ve done nothing to get out.”

Billy at Stu.

“You’ll forgive me if I promise, and do nothing but the same.”

Also Billy at Stu

“Yeah I know wrong I know right, but I just love to pick a fight. I can sleep with one eye open, if there’s any sleep at night.”

Billy coded again

“I got my knife, got my gun. Let’s see how fast you can run.”

Billy speaking to Stu, because he would absolutely mess with Stu in the Ghostface costume

“I was good but then I quit. Everyone that tried to fix me, knows that I can’t change a bit.”

Billy coded

“I’ve got no shame, got no pride. Only skeletons to hide.”

Hmm either one of em tbf-

“Yeah once you think you’re in control, you’ll believe that we are partners and you’ll feel comfortable. Oh then the darkness rolls in and you’ll forget who I have been.”

Billy to Stu, kitchen scene.

• Psycho [Muse]

“Love, it will get you nowhere.”

Stu coded.

“Come to me now, I could use someone like you. Someone who’ll kill on my command, and asks no questions.”

Billy getting Stu to help him commit to the murders

“I’m gonna make you, I’m gonna break you, I’m gonna make you- a fucking psycho.”

Billy coded

“Your mind is just a program and I’m the virus.”

Billy coded again

“And you will kill on my command and I won’t be responsible.”

Billy when he has Stu commit a good portion of the murders

“I’m gonna make you, a fucking psycho- your ass belongs to me now.”

Billy coded

“You fucking psycho, your ass belongs to me now.”

Also Billy coded

• The Handler [Muse]

“You are my handler, I will execute your demands”

Stu following Billy

“Leave me alone, I must disassociate from you”

Billy in return to Stu

• Wolves without Teeth [Of Monsters and Men]

"Open my chest and colour my spine. I'm giving you all"

Stu showing his devotion to Billy.

"Swallow my breath, And take what is mine. I'm giving you all"

devotion

"I'll be the blood, If you'll be the bones."

could be seen as compromise- still devotion though

"Haunt me in my sleep. You'll sailing from another world, Sinking in my sea."

"You're feeding on my energy, I'm letting go of it"

"I can see through you, We are the same. It's perfectly strange. You run in my veins. How can I keep you, Inside my lungs. I breathe what is yours, You breathe what is mine"

Stu as he knows who/what billy is, and he's not off putted because he loves it.

• Partners in Crime [Set it Off] [self explanatory.]

"You'll never takes us alive, We swore that death will do us part. They'll call our crimes a work of art"

"This, the tale of, reckless love. Living a life of crime on the run"

"And if the heat comes close enough to burn, Then we'll play with fire."

"This is the night the young love died, Buried at each others side. You never took us alive, We swore that death would do us part"

[reblogs appreciated but not at all forced! <3]

[foxes-that-run]

Wine, Drug and Antidote Haylor theme

Wine / Alcohol

Taylor

Clean “you’re still all over me like a wine stained dress I can’t wear anymore”

Death by a Thousand Cuts “my time, my wine, my spirit, my trust” and "I get drunk, but it's not enough ’Cause the morning comes and you're not my baby"

False God “got the wine for you”

Willow “lost in your current like a priceless wine”

Maroon “your roommate’s cheap ass screw top rose" and “The burgundy on my tshirt when you splashed your wine into me”

Paris “cheap wine make believe it’s champagne”

Dress: I’m spilling wine in the bathtub, you kiss my face and we’re both drunk

The 1: Rosé flowing with your chosen family

August: August sipped away like a bottle of wine 'cause you were never mine

Ivy: Or dare to sit and watch what we’ll become, and drink my husband’s wine

Need "Desire is the sound of the whiskey / Telling me you miss me Can you come around?"

Gorgeous"Whiskey on ice, Sunset and Vine, you’ve ruined my life by not being mine"

“Slut!”: And if I’m gonna be drunk, might as well be drunk in love

End Game: I don’t wanna hurt you, I just wanna be drinking on a beach with you all over me

Delicate: We can’t make any promises now can we babe, but you can make me a drink

Dress: I’m spilling wine in the bathtub, you kiss my face and we’re both drunk

Cruel Summer: I’m drunk in the back of the car and I cried like a baby coming home from the bar

Cardigan: Dancing in your Levi’s, drunk under a streetlight

Harry

Olivia, “This isn't the stain of a red wine, I'm bleeding love”

Already Home “a bottle of wine, pretending it’s fine”

Changes “god bless the young hearts sippin cheap wine

Grapejuice "I'm so over whites and pinks", "A bottle of rouge” and “Just me and you 1982" and “grapejuice blues”

Little Freak “red wine and ginger ale”

Keep Driving “wine glass, puff pass”

Pick you up "We don't need wine, we need water"

Medicine "I had a few, got drunk on you and now I'm wasted"

From the Dining Table "Fell back to sleep, I got drunk by noon"

Satellite "Do you wanna talk? / We share the last line / Then we drink the wall"

Medicine, Anti-dote, drugs and addiction

Taylor

Clean "Ten months sober, I must admit / Just because you're clean, don't mean you don't miss it / Ten months older, I won't give in / Now that I'm clean, I'm never gonna risk it"

Death by a thousand cuts "Gave up on me like I was a bad drug"

Don’t Blame Me: Lord, save me, my drug is my baby, I’ll be using for the rest of my life

Illicit Affairs: A drug that only worked the first few hundred times

Bejewelled “some guy said my auras moonstone just cuz he was high” 

Harry

Muse as a drug/addiction

Meet me in the Hallway "I just left the bedroom Give me some morphine / Is there any more to do?"

Daylight - “ You got the antidote I'll take one to go, go, please”

Golden "I can feel you take control (I can feel you take control) / Of who I am, and all I've ever known / Lovin' you's the antidote",

Ever Since New York "Choose your words 'cause there's no antidote"

End of the Day "Twenty minutes later, wound up in the hospital / The priest thinks it's the devil, my mum thinks it's the flu / But, girl, it's only you"

Medicine - "I'm here to take my medicine, take my medicine / Treat you like a gentleman / Give me that adrenaline, that adrenaline"

Make my day "She asked me to choke her, I play along / Hit me like a ray of light, straight to my veins"

Complicated Freak "I still crave it, complicated freak"

Taking drugs / being high

Ophelia "Why don't we get a little high and crazy?"

Daylight "You were just doing cocaine In my kitchen, you never listen" and "I'm on the roof / You're in your airplane seat / I was nose bleedin'"

Keep Driving "Cocaine, side boob / Choke her with a sea view"

Pop tart "A coked up little Pop-Tart" (I think not Haylor)

Kiwi "Holland Tunnel for a nose, it's always backed up"

Cinema "I bring the pop to the cinema / You pop when we get intimate"

(See also @womanexile's post on Wine)

[theforestghost]

The Consort and The Warlord Ch5

Summary: Megatron uses the All Spark to gain access to Cybertron and demands a peace treaty. An Autobot Consort is offered and Optimus is chosen. A Bonding Ceremony takes place and now Optimus has three vorn to figure out exactly what Megatron wants to do with Cybertron.

Pairing: Optimus Prime x Megatron

Continuity: Animated

Status: Ongoing

Optimus sat awkwardly on a rather comfortable chair aboard a small Decepticon ship. Beside him, close enough that he could touch him if he so much as shifted slightly, was Megatron who seemed more focused on the datapad in servo than anything else. Optimus glanced up at the large mech, noting how his optical ridge drew forward and how his derma formed a slight scowl and the very tip of a pointed fang poked out. And now he was very quickly looking away from the warlord because he should not be taking into account how handsome Megatron was. Especially since they'd be spending the entire cycle together.

It had been during their morning training, something that was now part of Optimus' daily schedul, that Megatron told them about a ceremony held by the Temple of Primus. 

"We will be returning the All Spark to its resting place." Megatron explained. "Officially it is supposed to be done with Ultra Magnus and myself but the Priests still greatly dislike the Autobots and so they have agreed to allow you to represent them."

"M-me?" Optimus sputtered out while dodging a sword strike. 

"They were impressed by you at the bonding ceremony so they chose you as the Autobot representative." Megatron said with a slight smirk. Honestly, the young prime had gone far beyond anything Megatron had hoped for in this bonding. Even his friends had gotten along well with the warframes.

"What don I have to do?" Optimus asked sheepishly. 

"I do not know the details of the ceremony since these are usually kept a secret." Megatron admitted as he blocked a well timed blow to his helm. "To my understanding, we simply need to follow what the priests tell us." 

Optimus had nodded at this but now he felt nervous all over again. When holding a ceremony, all luxuries and weapons were to be left behind. Which was why both of them had emptied their subspaces, no wax was applied to their plating and Megatron had even suggested cleaning their frames in simple solvent. Nothing Optimus honestly minded since he'd always preferred unscented or very lightly scented solvents. Though Megatron seemed to use whatever he could get as most of his solvents were random scents. 

While they rode in a Decepticon ship, a member of the temple was escorting them to the temple itself. Aside from Megatron and Optimus, no outsiders were allowed to witness this ceremony and Optimus couldnt help but worry that he'd mess it up. It would be just like him to trip and fall, make a mistake, speak when he shouldn't. Honestly, he still can't believe that he made it through the bonding ceremony without messing anything up. His anxiety seemed to leak from his frame since Megatron stopped focusing on his datapad and turned to face Optimus.

"I can smell you thinking." Megatron stated with slight amusement in his tone. 

Optimus shifted uncomfortably and glanced up at the warlord. "I don't like doing things I can't prepare for." He said quickly. "I know I'm going to mess up somehow."

"You performed the bonding ceremony perfectly, even without preparation." Megatron reminded him.

"I was so nervous about all of Cybertron watching me thay my voice box glitched." Optimus admitted.

"So thay was why you were so stiff." Megatron mused. "And hear I thought you were scared of me."

"I'm not!" Optimus sputtered. "You didn't- I mean you are intimidating but I wasn't scared of you!"

Megatron was surprised by the small outburst and how enthusiastically Optimus tried to reassure him that he was not scary. Optimus was also undeniably adorable with that earnest expression, browplates quirked up slightly and his pouty derma pressed together. Oh Megatron had to look away. They may be Bonded but Megatron had zero intention of forcing this little autobot to do anything he wasn't comfortable with. He had even refrained from touching Optimus outside of training, though he found himself holding back slightly. Especially since Hook had informed him that he'd dented Optimus' plating once simply by scruffing him. 

Civilians really were far more fragile than warframes, even if this specific civillian could handle rougher treatment. Optimus was getting better every cycle they trained and Megatron couldn't remember the last time he'd fought with such a promising mech. Soon he'd even be able to put up a proper fight. His engine revved slightly at this but he quickly quieted it when Optimus appeared startled. The little one had no idea what inner turmoil Megatron was going through. 

The flight to the Temple of Primus remained quiet after that but a dense atmosphere filled it. Both mechs refused to look at each other though Optimus was more confused over Megatron’s reaction to his outburst, which was downright embarrassing, oh why did he do that!?

When they finally arrived at the Temple of Primus, Optimus was glad to finally get off of the ship. Megatron let him get off first and Optimus was caught off guard by what greeted them. 

The room they were in was sizable by any standard but very plain. One wall was a set of docking doors which were now sealed shut and the other three were bare of anything aside from white paint thay looked like it had been cleaned daily. While the Decepticon ship was able to fit comfortably, Optimus couldn't help but wonder how it would get out of the hanger like room they were in. The only noticeable thing in the room was a large staircase that went underground, three priests lined on either side as the head priest from the bonding ceremony stood at the top. His servos were grasped before him and he was smiling. Like at the ceremony, his frame was stripped of anything unnecessary, painted white and marked with red paint. 

"I welcome Lord Megatron and Consort Optimus Prime to the Temple of Primus." The highpriest stated, as he walked towards them. He held his servos up, palm facing them and Megatron placed his own servos to the High Priest's. When the high priest turned to Optimus, he mimicked the action though a bit unsure. Despite his hesitation, the high priest seemed happy as he stepped back and motioned to the stairs. "The Temple is this way, we will begin the ceremony once you have been cleaned."

Optimus glanced up at Megatron as they walked down the stairs, unsure if he was allowed to speak, he lifted his servos to mimic the gesture from earlier. Megatron took note and gave him a nod. "It is an old form of greeting." Megatron said, his voice low. The high priest glanced back at him but didn't seem to mind them speaking. "No one is sure where it originated from but it was popularized in Vos, especially amongst Seeker Trines. Eventually it was seen as the most respectful way of greeting. However, seeing as it was widely used by Warframes, the Council forbid it during the war and it eventually became a forgotten practice."

Optimus looked at his servos. He had found this form of greeting much nicer than the handshakes that were now used. "I think I prefer this over how we normally greet." He admitted. "I don't like when my servo gets squeezed."

"Most don't." Megatron agreed, flexing his own digits. Warframe or Civillian, their servos were not meant to be squeezed in such ways. It could easily get painful and even cause damage to the joints. 

The High Priest stopped when the stairs became a large platform. There were more steps going down, low light illuminating them but the High Priest gestured towards one of the doors by the platform. "Before we hold the ceremony, we do require you both be cleansed. It is a simple solvent scrub that some Temple members will help with. Afterwards you will be painted with the ceremonial markings and then we will proceed down to the Temple itself."

Optimus hesitantly raised his servo and the High Priest gave him a nod to speak. "What exactly is the ceremony?" He asked. Oh he hoped his voice didn't break, he did not want to mess up in front of Primus. Or Megatron… but mostly Primus.

"Do not worry, while we do require absolute secrecy, the ceremony is much simpler than the bonding ceremony was." The High Priest assured him. "We just require that nothing about the ceremony leaves this place."

"Of course!" Optimus said quickly. Not like anybot he knew would be overly interested. 

The room they entered had two temple members in it, a small femme and a large mech who was almost the size of a warframe. Their plating was simple but instead of the red markings of the Priests, their markings were a blue shade. They both bowed respectfully but it was the small femme who spoke up. 

"Welcome, Lord Megatron and Consort Optimus Prime, we will be preparing you for the ceremony. If you'll come this way, we can begin with the solvent scrub!" She spoke in a bright and cheery voice as she gestured to an area of the room that had tiled flooring and a small ledge. A rack against the wall held two bottles of solvent, two scrubs and towels. A shower head hung loose from the wall and Optimus noticed a small drain in the tiles. There were no privacy walls but Optimus had gotten used to that from the Academy. 

What he wasn't expecting was for the femme to grab the shower head and begin rinsing him off. Optimus stepped away from the sudden splash of water, bumping into Megatron as he did. "W-what are you doing?" Optimus asked, his servos up in defense.

"We will be scrubbing you clean!" The femme said with a smile. "Don't worry, we will be respectful!"

Megatron gently placed his servo on Optimus' shoulder pauldron, making the small mech look up at him. "It is a bit uncomfortable but it will be over quickly." He assured him and to his surprise, Optimus seemed to relax a bit and stepped back towards the femme.

The scrub down was awkward, and Optimus knew he was flushed with embarrassment but it wasn't completely unpleasant. The femme had been respectful and only scrubbed his plating, never touching joints or seams, and staying away from sensitive areas. The solvent they used was actually quite nice and Optimus couldn't help but lift his arm to his faceplate to sniff at it. 

"Do you like the solvent?" The femme asked as she rinsed off his stabilizers.

"The smell is pleasant and not overpowering." Optimus noted. 

"We make it ourselves using Brittle Thorns." The femme stated. "They give off a very soft scent and the texture of the solvent is wonderful!"

"I didn't think Brittle Thorns could be worked with." Optimus said. "There isn't even a greasy texture either."

"I didn't think you were one to care about solvents." Megatron noted. Unlike Optimus, he was still being scrubbed due to his larger frame. The large mech working on him continued to remain silent, focusing on his work. 

"I'm not obsessed with them but anybot would have a preference when it comes to them." Optimus said. "Cheap ones smell like soap and leave a gross film on your plating but a lot of scented ones are too potent for my taste." 

"I can never see any difference." Megatron stated, glancing at his shoulder pauldron that was dripping water. The smell was less noticeable than what Starscream wore at times. 

"Maybe that's because you big guys don't have as sensitive plating as we do." The femme chimed in. "It's probably a different sensory net level, we have more sensitive plating but yours has higher density."

"So civillians spend so much time focusing on solvents because they actually enjoy them." Megatron contemplated with a hum. 

"Not just solvents, mesh fabrics and bedding too." The femme explained. "I mean you can get a decent enough recharge on a metal berth but there is nothing like a decent padding and mesh covering to make it even better!"

"I understand that." Optimus said with a grin. "When my friends and I were cadets, we got a chance to go to the upper caste market and found a store specializing in organic mesh. We found a massive covering that was the softest I've ever touched! 

"It costs three years worth of my tuition for just one of them." Optimus continued. "That store owner kicked us out so quickly when he realized we weren't upper caste."

The femme laughed as she led Optimus to the painting area after he and Megatron had been thoroughly dried off. "I bet he did!" She said.

"Though I thought those on the Temple didn't live in luxury." Optimus stated. He held still as a skillful brush was traced over his chassis. 

"We live comfortably." The femme explained. "We don't have anything unnecessary but we don't starve ourselves either. The Brittle Thorns are an abundant resource and it was by chance that the solvents made from it are so good."

"That makes sense." Optimus pondered. These bots actually seemed more well off than a lot of Cybertron at the moment in all honesty. He didn't like that. Glancing down at his chassis, Optimus noted the strange glyphs that were scribed onto him. "What language is this?"

"Ancient Cybertronian." Megatron replied. "It is a language thought to have been long lost even before the Golden Era."

"We preserve it here in the temple." The femme explained. "The Head Priest is really old and teaches it to those who want to become a Priest. The test to pass involves translating old scripts and is really difficult."

"I am surprised to see that it is still being used." Megateon noted. "I had thought the Council would have purged such a thing long ago."

"The Temple of Primus has always had a strong influence so the Council always had to tread lightly with us." The femme explained. "We may not have an army, but most Cybertronians believe in Primus to some degree so going against us would he like going against against Creator, even the Council won't do that. Even so, the ever stagnat society that the Council created has finally started to move. I just hope that some old traditions stay."

She gave them a smile but it seemed rather sad to Optimus. He began to wonder, just how much of their culture and history had been buried over the millions of solar cycles that the Council had been in place. The large and silent mech got the attention of the small femme and made a motion with his servos. She nodded and placed her servos on her hips.

"Well enough of that, it's time for for ceremony!" The femme said. "Just walk out the doors and the Head Priest will show you the rest of the way!"

The Head Priest was in fact waiting for them at the top of the steps. The other priests stood to the sides as they had before and Optimus wondered if they had spent the entire time like this. Nervousness swelled in his tanks as he once again realized just how important this ceremony was. 

"Thank you for your patience, I will now explain what you must do." The high priest said. "The bottom of these stairs leads to a shrine where the All Spark is to be placed. You two will carry the All Spark to the pedestal at the center and then return. You may not speak and you may not look back until the ceremony is complete."

Optimus and Megatron nodded their helms in understanding. The High Priest smiled at this and led down the stairs. Like the previous set, these continued straight down and seemed to be endless. Even in the dull illumination, they appeared bottomless and as they continued to descend, Optimus wondered if he'd have the energy to climb when this is all over. Down they continued until finally an opening was came into view.

Stepping out of the stairway, Optimus was greeted by a massive room with high ceilings that disappeared into darkness. A large platform stood in the center and a soft green glow emanated from it. The platform floated in the center, the pit below as deep as it was high and Optimus truly wondered who made such a place as it was completely mechmade. In the center of the platform stood a pedestal and the pathway to it was lined in pillars that stood high above. As they stepped closer,  Optimus noted that intricate patterns were carved into the pillars and floors, so finely detailed that it seemed impossible for even the smallest of minicons to sculpt. Megatron seemed equally enraptured by the detail of this place that he bumped into Optimus slightly, silently apologizing as he put a servos behind him to steady the much smaller bot. 

The High Priest stopped at a long pedestal that stood at the entrance to the platform. With his back struts to them, he raised a hand and a blue glow illuminated the box. Optimus had to squint his optics to not be blinded by the light but he did his best to not cover them with his servos. As the High Priest stood to the side, an orange box with intricate carvings and a handle on either side was now on the long pedestal. An energy pulsed through the box, an energy that sent an almost giddiness through Optimus. Electricity crackled in his digit tips and there was no denying what this was. 

This was the All Spark.

This was their source of life.

The High Priest gestured for them to step up to the platform. Optimus hesitated, but a gentle touch to his back struts had him looking at Megatron. The warlord gave him a slight nod in encouragement and the two mechs moved forward. Walking around the long pedestal, they each lifted a side of the All Spark with a single servos and began to walk down the platform. The All Spark felt heavy but weightless and Optimus felt his processor empty of all worries or fears.

Optimus found himself facing the stairway that they had come down. Megatron stood beside him, both with empty servos. They looked down at each other, confusion clearly expressed as the High Priest clapped twice.

"Well done. The All Spark has been returned to our planet." He spoke, gesturing behind them. "Look."

Both mechs turned around to see that the walls of the room now pulsed with a blue light. A soft hum seemed to emanate from the depths of the room and Optimus couldn't help but think that the room was alive. The High Priest stepped closer to them, seeing their aw.

"Typically the task of returning the All Spark should have been left to myself and two priests." He spoke carefully, only speaking again when Optimus and Megatron focused on him. "I allowed you to take part in this ceremony as a show of good faith, I hope you do not tarnish it."

With those words, he turned around and began to ascend the large staircase. 

Optimus was honestly exhausted after the cycles activities. The special paint had been cleaned off once they came back from the temple. They were given plain energon to drink and then a temple member flew them back to Kaon. Now Optimus sat in his chair, lounging lazily as he felt like weights were stuck to his stabilizers. He let out an ex-vent as Hadeen began to set.

"Optimus," Megatron said, instantly getting the younger mech's attention. "Would you be interested in dining with me tonight?"

Optimus perked up slightly at the question. They generally had their morning fuel together but night fuels were often done on their own time. In Autobot society, it was considered a romantic gesture to ask someone to dine with them at night. He wondered if Megatron knew this… even if he didn't, it would be rude to reject him. They are technically Bonded too so it's not like it would be weird to dine together at night. 

"I would be interested." Optimus finally managed to say. This seemed to make Megatron happy.

"I will make a reservation." He said, already making a call.

"A reservation? Where?" Optimus asked. 

They were in Kaon, not Iacon or even Polyhex. This wasn't a city where you could just go out and fuel at a nice shop. At least it hadn't been when Optimus had first come to the city. Kaon had resembled a warzone the last time Optimus had toured it, how could it be fixed up in half a vorn?

"We have two bars in the tower, one for the more rowdy drinkers and then a much nicer one with private rooms. We will be going to the nicer one." Megatron explained. He had already made their reservations with a beautiful view of the two moons. 

"Aren't bars too… inappropriate for a government tower?" Optimus asked. 

Megatron rubbed his chinplate in contemplation. "I can see why it might seem inappropriate for such places but given thay most of Kaon is still uninhabitable, I believed that the tower would be the best place for business." He explained. "Most of our working force currently resides in the tower and so having access to bars and other entertainment is more beneficial when it is close by. Of course when the streets are built up, we will offer them a chance to relocate or even let them stay if they chose too."

"You really put a lot of thought into this tower." Optimus stayed in surprise. 

"It is collective efforts of my mechs." Megatron stated. "If we don't have solid ground to get our bearings, we will never be able to rebuild efficiently. 

Optimus nodded at the statement which caused Megatron to smile. "Now I believe we have a reservation to get to." The warlord stated, offering the joint of his arm to Optimus. 

The young prime took it with slight hesitation, worried about the awkward height difference between them. In the end, he was more of holding onto Megatron’s arm with his servos than anything else. 

The bar Megatron had reserved for them was near the first floor. The elevator opened straight into it and the mood of the room changed drastically. The wide open space was filled with booths and tables, well large enough to fit warframes comfortably but the organic material of the furnishing showed thay it was high end. Very high end. Soft pink lighting illuminated the room as a soft melody played. A bar was near one of the walls, glass cubes sparkling in the artificial light and stars that came through the massive windows. It was honestly the fanciest place Optimus had ever been to.

A femme walked up to them, frame painted black and white with pink accents. Her blue optics smiled at them as she gestured towards a door that was practically hidden by Crystal floral. 

"Welcome, Lord Megatron and Consort Optimus, I have the private room all set up for you." The femme stated. 

She led them through the door and into a much nicer hallway than what Optimus had seen on other floors. Like the main room of the bar, the hallways was painted a dark color, possibly black but it appeared a dark pink under the lights. The floor was a dark tile and all of the doors had been painted to match. The hallway was a bit narrow, but Megatron could fit through it easily. Stopping at one of the doors, the femme opened it and gestured for them to enter. Megatron offered Optimus to step in first and as soon as he was inside, he stopped.

The small room had a single table with two seats, decorative crysyals and flora lined the room tastefully. A self serving bar shined brightly as a soft melody, different from what he heard in he main room, played. The entire far wall was a glass window and both of Cybertron's moons sat perfectly in the frame, like a picture. 

Megatron offered Optimus a seat as he went to pour them both a drink. The bartender was back with energon goodies by this time and then she let them be. Offering Optimus a cube of a sweeter engex, the younger bot took it with a thank you. Megatron sat down across from him.

"I hope this place meets your expectations." Megatron said, offering his cube.

Optimus gently tapped his cube to Megatron’s and gave him a nod. "It passed it." He admits, taking a sip. It wasn't too strong and much smoother than what he was used to. 

"Is the engex to your liking?" Megatron asked, optics on the tray of energon goodies. They had been given a variety of them to enjoy. 

"It's much richer than what I'm used to." Optimus admitted."Though in all honesty, I'm more used to cheap bars where I can bottoms up."

"Do refrain from such behavior here." Megatron stated, a scowl on his face.

Optimus couldn't help but chuckle at this as he raised his cube. "Don't worry." He said, taking another drink. This certainly didn't have the burn he was used to but it was nice at the same time. Looking at the energon goodies, Optimus honestly had no idea what half of them were as he'd never seen them in the lower markets of Cybertron. 

"These ones have a jellied center and these are good if you prefer something crunchy." Megatron offered, pointing to different treats respectfully. 

Optimus carefully picked up the crunchy treat, it was a bit darker than normal energon, crystallized and smelt wonderful. He popped it into his intake and the flavor spread across his glossa. Optimus happily bit into the treat, savoring the flavor as it melted and licking his derma when he was done.  He eyed another of the same treat but glanced up at Megatron to see if it was okay to take it. Megatron nodded, trying to hide his chuckle at the innocent expression Optimus wore behind his cube. It was like watching a sparkling try a treat for the first time. Maybe it was his first time…

"Have you never had energon treats?" Megatron asked. He picked up a softer one to savor himself.

"Only the upper castes can get these." Optimus admitted. "They're usually so expensive we can't afford them anyway."

Megatron frowned. "These treats can be made easily in a kitchen if you know how to." He said. Optimus had a rust stick halfway into his intake when he stared at Megatron with wide optics. Megatron let out an ex-vent and carefully moved a few more crunchier goodies towards Optimus. "It seems a lot of things need to be addressed aside from just laws and degrees."

Optimus was confused by the last part of what Megatron said, but he also couldn't help but enjoy the delicacies in front of him. When would he ever be able to eat these again once he returned to Iacon? Optimus frowned and lowered his helm, looking down at his servos. He couldn't get used to living here… he had to go back. 

"How do you view our visit to the Temple of Primus?" Megatron asked, interrupting Optimus' thoughts.

Optimus looked up at Megatron and held his cube carefully, digits crossed as he spoke. "I was honestly surprised by everybot there." He admits. "Ultra Magnus has always had a level of dislike towards the Temple and our instructors never spoke well about them. I'd always been told that they were very strict and harsh on those that didn't follow their doctrine. But they really aren't that different from any other bot. They have their beliefs but they are still very kind.

"I'm starting to realize that even though I've been to the edges of Autobot space, my world has been very small." Optimus looked down at his energon as he spoke. He felt shame, shame at his ignorance, shame at the disdain he once held towards those that he had thought were so different from himself. 

"Then I believe I should broaden your horizon." Megatron offered with the most genuine smile Optimus had ever seen on the warlord. 

Two and a half vorn. Would he make it like this?